


Like Smoke Blown to Heaven

by littleboat



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Angst, Angst and Feels, Cassandra Retelling, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Royal Wedding, Sakusa and Komori are best cousins even they are not together, Slow Burn, additional warning at the end of the final chapter, me projecting my big fat crush on Aran onto literally everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28556337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleboat/pseuds/littleboat
Summary: Born of greed, wrought of furyA youth of the court you will buryTouch him not, my warning heedGlory or gold; one will define theeor  Sakusa journeys to Troy to attend a royal wedding. There, he meets Atsumu, tragically beautiful and cursed by the gods. While fate brings them together, a prophecy threatens to tear them apart.
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke/Ojiro Aran, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 49
Kudos: 86





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello! if this looks familiar to you, that's because it was taken down and is now being re-uploaded!

Apollo, Apollo!  
God of all ways, but only Death's to me,  
Once and again, O thou, Destroyer named,  
Thou hast destroyed me, thou, my love of old!

It’s the middle of the night when Sakusa’s carriage pulls up to the gates. The driver opens the door for him and he steps out into the warm night air. A breeze brings in the salty scent of the ocean and tousles the curls that have fallen onto his forehead.

He tips his head in thanks to the coach and watches him steer the horse down the path they came. Then, Sakusa turns to the palace.

The gate leading into it is spectacular, made of a smooth marble carved into nymphs strumming lyres, ravens circling the sky, and branches of laurel. The pillars are carved with vines and plump pomegranates. Sakusa feels almost dizzy taking it all in.

At this hour, anyone who would be there to greet guests has likely turned in for the night. He doesn’t know where to go; the herald who was sent to their court with the invitation was really rather vague, but he supposes someone inside will be able to help him find his way.

“Guest of the Prince?”

The voice breaks through the stillness of the night, making Sakusa jump. He quickly schools his features and turns around to find someone in a cloak, hood draped over their head, face cast in shadows.

Sakusa never heard any footsteps.

“Yes. I come from a court of the east,” he replies, guard raised but trying to keep the edge out of his voice.

“Aha, well, allow me to show you to your room.”

The person, a young man, judging by the tone of his voice, gestures for Sakusa to walk ahead of him through the arch.

He falls into step alongside Sakusa.

“We certainly weren’t expecting any guests to arrive this late in the night, otherwise someone more worthy of your standing would have been here to receive you,” the man says, though his tone is playful.

The more Sakusa hears the man speak, the more he hears the accent in his voice.

“Are you...a servant of the court then?” Sakusa ventures.

The man mulls it over. “You could say that.”

They lapse into silence and Sakusa is led up a winding path and through sets of double doors.

“Well, here you are. Servants will bring the luggage you had sent over in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Sakusa says, turning to the man. “Have a good night.”

The man nods. “Have a good night, Prince Sakusa.”

Sakusa catches only a glimpse of amber eyes as the man turns away from the room and down a hall.

It isn’t until he’s settled on the bed and unlacing his sandals that Sakusa realizes he never told the man his name.

~

A knock at the door brings him to the next morning.

He rolls out of bed and opens the door to find, true to the man's word, servants carrying trunks and satchels teeming with his belongings.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” one of the servants greets.

“Good morning,” he replies. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“A pleasure, sir.”

Once they finish bringing in Sakusa’s luggage, the same servant turns to him. “There’s someone waiting in the baths to help you. Once you’re washed and dressed, His Majesty has requested his guests join him for breakfast in the gardens.”

The servants bow again and slip out the door, leaving Sakusa alone.

He takes a moment to steel himself for the ordeal that will be breakfast, then makes his way to the baths, where he dismisses the attendant.

~

Gardens is an understatement. To one side is the ocean, glittering in the morning light. To all other sides is a field of green stretching farther than his eyes can see. There are rows of grapevines, and pomegranate trees, and bushes of roses.

The gardens in his court lost their beauty long ago, after his father gained his gift. Though guests marvel every time they visit, Sakusa hates the court with a vehemence.

He spots King Priam at the head of a long table, surrounded by members of his family and his court. Sakusa trudges over to where a queue of people are already waiting to greet the king.

When it’s nearing his turn, he spots a man with white hair tugging on his seat mate's arm and pointing to Sakusa.

Sakusa frowns at both of them.

“Prince Sakusa,” King Priam bellows when he spots him. “We are honored to have you.”

Sakusa forces a smile for the King and kneels before him.

“Your Majesty, thank you for the invitation. My father sends his congratulations to the Prince and your family and apologies deeply for his inability to be here himself.”

“Not to worry,” King Priam says. He reaches out to slap Sakusa on the back, but at the last moment, catches himself and drops his hand.

The King clears his throat and Sakusa takes that as his cue to move down the line and greet the Queen.

The two men watch Sakusa as he kneels before Queen Hecuba and he scowls at them again, for good measure.

They have the grace to look guilty this time.

Sakusa finds the table farthest away from the King’s and spends breakfast ignoring everyone and everything around him.

A concerned servant asks him if he’d like any assistance, but Sakusa shakes his head and thanks them regardless.

No one tries to talk to him after that, for which he’s thankful.

It’s his first time at Priam’s court and he certainly isn’t here by choice. His father had cornered him and forced the task upon him after his refusal to attend any diplomatic proceedings. It’s partially his own fault, he supposes. His father thought his avoidance of anyone and anything was petty rebellion and shirking of duty.

_“Surely you can handle a simple diplomatic matter,” his father said over dinner one evening, after the herald had presented them with the invitation._

_The hand Sakusa had raised to his mouth, the one holding the spoon, the one wrapped in silk and then again in leather, stilled. Wasn’t the fact that they ate with their hands wrapped, with few eyes gazing at them, reason enough that neither of them should be going anywhere, diplomatic or otherwise?_

_“Is Komori unavailable?” Sakusa asked._

_His father frowned, a deep crease folding between his eyebrows like the well-worn spine of an ancient tome. “Is Komori the one who will take over the throne?”_

_At the time, Sakusa had pushed away from the table and retired to his rooms, thinking the argument lost before it had even begun._

Now, as he sits staring at the empty plate in front him, he wishes he’d tried harder.

“Not hungry?”

Sakusa looks up to see a man with dark skin, cropped hair, and a trim beard smiling at him.

His displeasure deepens. It’s one of the men who had been gawking at him earlier.

“Not yet,” Sakusa says.

“It’s okay,” the man sitting next to the first replies. He has pale skin and white hair with black tips. “I’m not much of a morning eater either.”

“I don’t care about your eating habits,” Sakusa says, examining a crack in the leather of his glove.

“No need to get feisty,” the man with dark skin says, doing the exact thing Sakusa was hoping he wouldn’t: sitting down across from him. His white haired companion joins him.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” He asks, feigning civility. It wouldn’t do him any good to insult his hosts _too_ deeply on his first morning.

The one with white hair shakes his head. “What’s your name?”

“Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

He nods to his companion. The man with dark skin appraises Sakusa, like Sakusa is a fish at the open-air market he’s thinking of purchasing.

It irks him, the way they’re having a whole conversation in silence, and about Sakusa no less.

“If there’s nothing I can do for you, I’ll take my leave,” Sakusa says, rising from his seat.

“Not quite,” the man with dark skin says, a glimmer in his eye. “My name is Ojiro Aran, Son of Theseus.”

Sakusa stares dully at him, but internally curses how handsome the Son of Theseus is.

“Kita Shinsuke, Son of Orpheus,” the other says. He is equally as handsome, but where Aran would fit in on a sunny beach or competing at the games, Kita has the air of someone who would do well in a library surrounded by yellowing scrolls and flickering candlelight.

Sakusa sinks back to his seat, though there is nothing he would rather do than return to the comfort of his bed. That seemed to be the only redeeming quality of the Trojan court thus far.

“Did you travel alone, Sakusa?” Aran asks conversationally.

Sakusa nods. He knows it odd, all of the nobility and royalty around him traveled with full entourages, but one of Sakusa’s conditions for making this journey was that he be allowed to come alone.

“And what court do you hail from?” This, from Kita, who reaches for a bunch of plump green grapes.

His brow twitches, but he forces out, “Phrygia.”

Kita nods again, like his suspicions have been confirmed. “Well, thank you for your time, Son of Phrygia.”

With that, the two men leave him alone, and Sakusa is left wondering what exactly the last few moments were.

~

After he spends what he considers to be an appropriate amount of time at the breakfast table, he excuses himself and heads back to his room.

Crawling back into bed is a respite. There were no incidents this morning, but how many more meals is he going to have to take over the course of this month? How many ceremonies and parties will he be roped into attending at the behest of his father? It’s not as though he can avoid eating for the next thirty days. But if not that, then what?

There are no servants here he knows or trusts, no one who know what precautions to take around Sakusa. And there is no one as close to Sakusa as his cousin to smack him upside the head and force him to eat something. The daunting task of feeding himself is quickly making him regret his decision to travel alone.

Though Sakusa is wearing his hand coverings, the thought of them falling off, the idea that he could slip up and end a life at any given moment terrifies him enough that he refuses to take a meal around company.

It happened once, when he was a child. There was a servant who often fed him as a young boy. She was a kind woman, with dark hair that she always wore in intricate braids. She was one of the only servants who would approach Sakusa when his hands weren’t lashed behind his back and she had a child Sakusa’s age, who he often played with.

One morning, when she was feeding Sakusa, he reached out to grasp her hand, but his coverings weren’t secure. Once the layer of leather fell off, the sheet under it fell off too. Within moments, he’d killed her. Frozen in place, spoon still raised towards Sakusa’s mouth.

Her son, understandably, stopped speaking to Sakusa. The horror of that day, and all the months that followed it, still come to him in nightmares sometimes.

Reliving the incident makes Sakusa hate his father all over again: for placing his burdens on Sakusa’s shoulders, for cursing Sakusa in the same way he cursed himself.

~

Lunch and dinner pass in a similar fashion as breakfast, except now Kita and Aran spend both meals openly staring at him. He imagines smashing plates full of food into both of their faces, but the thought is a meager salve for his bitterness.

Instead, Sakusa spends both meals ignoring them and listening to the threads of conversation around him. A snippet of gossip catches his attention.

“I hear he’s locked the cursed child away,” he hears one woman say to another around a mouthful.

Sakusa’s face twists up in disgust. The least she could do is chew first.

The woman next to her tuts. “About time. I heard he tried to marry him off countless times, but he scared every suitor off. Even tried to kill one of them, supposedly.”

He’s heard enough of their drivel, he thinks, tuning them out and instead listening to someone who he supposes is a scholar, but could very easily be a con man, explain the alchemic theory of transmuting lead to gold to a bored looking blonde man.

At the end of dinner, King Priam rises from his seat and announces that the festivities will be starting tomorrow, and it takes everything Sakusa has not to bang his head against the table.

Sakusa is self-aware enough to know he’s not the most pleasant person under normal circumstances. Mix in the fact that he’s here against his own will and starving, and he knows he’s a diplomatic disaster waiting to happen.

He envies Komori, who is at home receiving the Macedonian dignitaries. His father refused to allow him to switch tasks with his cousin and refused even to allow Komori to accompany Sakusa to Troy.

~

Sakusa lays in bed that night, staring at the ceiling and begging sleep to take him. But his stomach rumbles and the familiar cold of missing multiple meals has set in.

He skipped meals often as a child, after he killed the servant. He believed himself a monster and thought that if he touched anything, he would destroy everything around him.

It took Komori wrestling him to the ground and touching him everywhere but his hands for Sakusa to warm up to the fact that maybe he could work around his curse and achieve some warped sense of normalcy for himself.

As it is though, he knows there’ll be no sleep tonight.

Checking that his hand coverings are firmly in place, he pulls his cloak on and slips out of his bedroom. The interior of the palace is as beautiful as the exterior. Vases painted with the Muses sit in enclaves in the walls. Flickering flames illuminate the rich tones of the rugs covering the floors.

Sakusa makes his way to the garden, both because it’s the only place he knows how to get to, and also because it’s so unlike anything he has at home.

Navigating is difficult in the dark, but Sakusa manages to find a path lined with rose bushes.

He follows it until he reaches a clearing. At the center of the clearing is a pond surrounded by benches overlooking the water. Moonlight gleams on the water’s surface, interrupted only by the leaves and flower petals that have drifted in.

Sakusa walks around the flower bushes until one rose in particular catches his eye. It’s larger than all the rest and seems to reach higher into the night, as though trying to catch the attention of the moon.

He bends down and inhales deeply. The scent is fresh and sweet and so alive; it’s overwhelming. Every time new rose bushes are planted in their own gardens, either he or his father inevitably manage to ruin them.

His hand inches closer to the flower. Sakusa wants so desperately to feel its petals, to prick his finger against one of its thorns, to feel warm blood roll down the skin of his hand. When was the last time he’d truly felt a flower? Been able to savor its texture? When was the last anything in bloom had survived around him long enough to wilt?

“You can pick it, you know.”

Sakusa whirls around to find a young man watching him, curious eyes wide.

“I’d rather not,” Sakusa says, voice neutral despite his heart thundering in his chest. _Does everyone in this court move like a cat_ , he wonders.

The man shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

“Who are you?”

He eyes Sakusa. “I should be askin’ you that. This is my garden.”

Something in Sakusa sinks at the thought of having this place taken from him.

“I didn’t realize,” he says. “I can leave.”

“No need. It’s nice to have company for a change.”

Sakusa watches the man walk to one of the benches. He takes a seat and waves him over.

Where the man sprawls, Sakusa sits as far away from him as possible, makes his body as small as he possibly can. The man either doesn't notice or doesn’t mind.

“You’re here for the wedding?”

Sakusa nods. “Are you?”

“Ehh, somethin’ like that.”

This is the third time he’s gotten non-answers from strange men at this court and it isn’t something he’s keen to make a habit of.

“What’s your name?”

“Sakusa Kiyoomi,” he says, waiting for the man’s face to twist in disgust, for him to make a snide remark, for him to get up and find another bench to sit on.

But the man just smiles at him. “Nice to meet you. Name’s Atsumu.” He offers no family name.

And for a moment, it seems as though this Atsumu is waiting for the same reaction out of Sakusa.

“Likewise,” Sakusa says with a polite nod.

Atsumu’s eyes widen, but he schools his face back into an easy smile. “So, Sakusa, what brings you to my garden at this hour?”

Sakusa stares at the pond, enamored, as a pair of swans land on the water’s surface and begin to bob.

“It’s beautiful,” he replies in a hush. The garden makes him feel like if he speaks too loud, he’ll ruin it, and Sakusa’s ruined enough things in his life to make him want to do everything in his power to keep this place sanct.

“Sure is,” Atsumu says, and from the corner of his eye, Sakusa watches him dig his sandaled toes into the grass. “But what brings you here?”

“Ah,” He had been asked a question and he certainly hadn’t responded. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Atsumu nods. “Mind too heavy?”

Something must be showing on Sakusa’s face, because Atsumu says “It’s okay, I come here for the same reason.”

He relaxes minutely at Atsumu’s words and the gentle tone he speaks them with.

They’ve been sitting in silence for a while when Atsumu says, “You’re welcome to come here whenever you like. A month is a long time to carry a heavy mind.”

Feeling himself unable to speak, Sakusa can only stare back at him.

~

The next morning, Sakusa searches for Atsumu at breakfast, but can’t find anyone who looks like him. More guests must have arrived yesterday, because there are suddenly three more tables crowded with bodies, in addition to the four that had been out yesterday.

Sakusa spots the two men from yesterday morning’s breakfast and sits as far away from them as he possibly can.

If he spaces out the number of people he doesn’t eat in front of, maybe he can minimize the awkward encounters he has this month.

Today, he sits next to a kind looking blonde woman. She tries her best not to stare as he sits there, eyes trained anywhere but the feast before him, hands clasped in his lap. She doesn’t try to speak to him though, for which Sakusa is grateful.

And what a feast it is.

The aroma of fresh bread is maddening. Sakusa’s stomach rumbles when his seatmate pulls a loaf of bread apart and steam drifts into the air. Bowls of honey and fruit preserves and at least seven different cheeses and pitchers of wine adorn every table.

His resolve almost snaps when he sees a bowl of fresh black figs. They’re his favorite fruit, but the fear of what reaching out for one could mean keeps him in place. He contends himself with watching a portly man with grey hair seated across from him pluck one out of the bowl and bite into it.

After what felt like ages of this torture, King Priam raises a wine glass. The conversation comes to a stand still and all eyes turn to the King as he rises, pulling the Queen up with him.

“Dear guests, the time has come for an announcement.”

Everyone gathered cheers and applauds, and Sakusa politely put his hands together as well.

“As you all know,” the King says. “This month of celebration marks the wedding of my dear son. Tonight will be the first night of the ceremony.”

Again, a cheer rises through the audience, and again, Sakusa does the bare minimum.

When he thinks it safe, he slips away from the feast and back to his room. The hunger is starting to sap away at his energy, so Sakusa settles down for a nap.

His sleeps fitfully, plagued by dreams of crushed roses and sprawling ivy wrapping around the column of his throat. Inexplicably, the man from the garden is there, watching Sakusa choke, watching the thorns dig into Sakusa’s neck.

The sound of metal clattering to the floor wakes Sakusa with a gasp. Sweat’s gathered at the nape of his neck.

It’s nearly evening, the setting sun washing everything around him in golden hues. Sakusa must have slept for hours, though it only felt like minutes.

The sound of screaming and metal scraping has him up and opening the door to find an empty goblet rolling towards him. He catches it under his foot.

A tray and all of the goblets it contained are strewn across the floor—the source of the noise.

Wine soaks into the thick rugs and a man is on the ground, struggling to mop it up. Sakusa thinks it’s a futile attempt, because the wine has already stained. A man standing over the other is the source of the yelling.

“You were instructed not to leave his door,” the man standings yellss. “His Highness already warned us what the consequences would be if he left his rooms.”

The man cuts off when he spots Sakusa. They both look like they’ve been caught red handed.

“S-sir,” the man on the floor says, scrambling to rise to his feet and hastening into a bow. “Did we wake you?”

His shoulders sag in relief when Sakusa shakes his head “no.”

“Is something the matter?” Sakusa asks.

“No sir, of course not!”

He wishes he hadn’t opened the door, wishes that he had let them continue, because Sakusa knows nothing he can ask now will make them resume their earlier conversation. Scraps of information always have a way of making themselves useful, after all.

“Sir, the ceremony will begin soon. Do you need help preparing?” The servant not blotting at the carpet asks.

“No, thank you,” he says, turning back to his room and clicking the door shut behind him. He leans against it and takes deep breaths. Rather than attend a wedding procession, what he really wants is to wait the night out and return to the garden.

Sakusa doesn't particularly care for Atsumu, but dealing with his presence seems a small price to pay for the peace the garden affords.

Instead, he slips into a deep violet chiton that looks almost black in the dark and pulls on his sandals. After a quick stop to the baths to clean his teeth, he makes his way to the great hall.

He doesn’t even have a chance to wonder if he’s going the right way, barely even has a chance to fold his hands to his sides, before the swell of the crowd immediately swallows him up.

It spits him out inside the hall.

The king clearly spared nothing for his son. An ivory marble flecked with gold makes up the floor and sparkles where the flames from the torches light it up. Sakusa frowns at his distorted reflection in the marble.

Throughout the hall are tables stacked with an assortment of food and drinks, most delicacies Sakusa has never seen before. This seems to be one of the clear advantages of ruling over a port kingdom.

A group of women in long, flowing chitons occupy a stage to the left of the room. They strum at harps and lyres and shake tambourines. Some of them harmonize with each other, their melody carrying through the domed walls.

There’s a balcony where a cool summer breeze flirts with the hems of skirts and dresses and tousles hair and raises goosebumps and Sakusa makes note to slip away there later in the night.

Taking a seat at a table tucked away in a far corner, he watches the crowd. It proves to be a fruitful experience.

One man pours wine all over the blonde woman from breakfast, who Sakusa supposes the man was trying to impress. He watches as another woman with dark hair steps in, smiles at the woman, and whisks her away for the night.

At one point, he spots a satyr child teaching a young boy how to make flower crowns. Both sets of parents coo when they see their children wearing the finished products.

His father’s court certainly has children and satyrs and musicians, but there’s an underlying edge to everything. Everyone is careful not to come too close to his father, and after Sakusa was born and the unfortunate death of a wet nurse confirmed he’d also inherited the curse, no one came near him either.

“What are you doing here alone?”

Sakusa turns to find the same men—Aran and Kita—from breakfast. They pull up chairs and sit across from him.

“Enjoying the view,” Sakusa replies coolly.

“Surely you can enjoy the view and you know, be part of it,” Aran says, waving a hand at the hall around them.

“I’m fine where I am,” Sakusa says.

Kita does something that Sakusa will only later realize is deliberate. He pulls a bowl of figs over to them and holds his hand over the bowl, pondering. He settles on the fattest fig in the bowl and picks it by the stem.

“So, Sakusa,” he says, and the air suddenly becomes charged. “You don’t take part in any of the feasts.”

Panic shoots through Sakusa, and he reminds himself to make an offering of thanks to the gods for his stoic features.

“Indeed,” he says. “I prefer to take my meals away from the commotion.”

“Except,” Kita says, biting into the fig. “You don’t take any meals.”

Sakusa stills. How does this man, this literal stranger, know this about him? Is everyone in this court full of games?

“How would you know that?”

Kita hums and twirls the remaining fig stem between his thumb and pointer finger.

“I asked you a question,” Sakusa says.

“Don’t bother,” Aran says. “He won’t answer.”

“Why are you two even here?” Sakusa snaps. Patience has always been Komori’s strong suit.

“Kita has a _feeling_ about you,” Aran says conspiratorially, with a smile that makes his eyes twinkle. Sakusa immediately wants to claw it off.

“Sakusa,” Kita says again. The way he says Sakusa’s name is unnerving. Even more unnerving is the way he seems to speak whatever is on his mind. Though Sakusa is the same way, he’s rarely been on the receiving end of such treatment and Kita picks up on that.

Kita seems to be waiting for acknowledgement, so Sakusa nods at him to continue.

“I’m sure you have your reasons,” Kita says. “And frankly, I don’t care to know them unless you care to share them. However, it’s as Aran says. I have a feeling about you. So here’s what we’ll do.

“You’ll come down to every meal the way you always do. And you will find Aran and I. You will point out everything you want to eat and we will fix plates for you and have them sent to your room. And you will eat them.”

Sakusa can only stare. Then, the familiar thrum of anger starts in his abdomen, works its way through his chest, tenses his shoulders, clenches his jaw, until it reaches its final destination and comes hurling out of his mouth.

“What does it matter to you?” he spits.

He knows he sounds childish. He knows that the anger he’s spewing at Kita’s is meant for his father, who left him starving in a foreign land so far away from his own at the mercy of too-observant strangers with opaque intentions.

This is exactly the kind of godsend he’s been waiting for. And now that it’s being offered up to him on a silver platter, he’s refuting it? Komori would point and laugh.

Aran quirks an eyebrow at him. “Well, it wouldn’t bode well for our court if you died of hunger, would it?”

Before Sakusa can even think of a reply, Kita claps his hands in front of him. “Well, now that the matter’s settled.”

Ignoring Sakusa’s scowl completely, Kita turns his attention to the dais at the front of the room, where four seats are placed. Two are occupied by King Priam and Queen Hecuba. The other two sit empty.

“They’ll be announced soon,” Kita says to Aran.

Aran plucks up a fig for himself. “I still can’t believe he’s the one getting married first. For all he bragged about doing everything first, I can’t believe he’d let himself be second in this.”

“Well,” Kita says, with a small, sad smile. “Second is always just the first loser.”

Aran matches Kita’s smile. Sakusa finds himself feeling very out of the know in this conversation.

“Are you...speaking of the prince?”

Kita turns calculating eyes towards Sakusa, then he cocks his head towards the dais and says nothing further.

The issue comes to a dead end, because at that moment, musicians blew into their aulos, signaling the arrival of the prince and his betrothed. They walk into the hall to the rhythm of drums banging. Rose petals are strewn out, lining their walk up to the dais.

Both are covered in large white cloths. The sheets bellow around them as they’re helped to their seats, but even after they’re seated, they remain covered.

King Priam turns to the crowd. “Friends, loved ones,” he booms, deep voice carrying around the dome of the room. “Thank you for making the journey to celebrate such a joyous occasion for my family.

“Tonight marks the Night of Feasts, the first of the Twenty Seven Nights. At the end of this month, my son and his betrothed will make their vows before the Gods. Eat and drink to your heart’s contents. May your joy become theirs.”

When King Priam returns to his throne, the hall erupts into noise again. Sakusa doesn’t think it possible, but everything seems to reach double its original volume.

He eyes the prince and his betrothed, covered in their sheets.

“Are they going to remain covered all night?” Sakusa asks.

Kita gives a curt nod. “All twenty seven nights, yes.”

“Why twenty seven?”

Aran says, “It’s actually a month, but the first three days of are in observance of Hera. They spend all three days and nights praying in the temple for her blessing.”

“And why a month in the first place?” Sakusa asks.

“Because,” Kita says, “Every night marks a different aspect of a relationship to be celebrated. Tonight is the Night of Feast, so that the couple may always have bread to break together.

“After praying at Hera’s temple, they’re to abstain from looking at each other, until the final night, when they take their vows and are revealed to each other.”

Sakusa looks at the room they’re in with newfound respect. The wedding traditions of his home are so different from the wedding traditions of the Trojans. No less beautiful, but vastly different.

“So they can’t look at each other for the rest of the month?” He asks, incredulous.

Aran nods and grins at the look on Sakusa’s face.

“Right?” Aran says. “I couldn’t imagine not being able to look at or touch the person I love for a month.”

Sakusa can’t even imagine having someone to marry. But something about the way Aran says what he does makes Sakusa’s brow furrow. “Do you not follow Trojan marriage customs then?”

“Well, if the person I were to marry was a Trojan,” Aran says, stealing a quick glance at an oblivious Kita. “But we do weddings differently in Athens.”

He makes a mental note to ask Aran about Athenian wedding traditions to report back to Komori. Komori would enjoy this celebration, and Sakusa finds himself wishing for his cousin simply to have someone to share these feasts with.

Komori’s friendly and easygoing, but with a sharp tongue and a sharper wit. He would’ve befriended Kita and Aran ages ago. If Komori had been the one with the curse—not that Sakusa would ever wish such a thing on his cousin—Sakusa is sure he would have found a way to work around it and make the best of the situation.

Unlike Sakusa, who’s sitting in the back of the great hall, watching everyone around him enjoy themselves so unselfconsciously.

Everytime Sakusa thinks he’s learned to live with the circumstances of his life, that he’s come to terms with the destruction he’s capable of, things like feasts and friendships and the notion of marriage come along and wreak havoc on his heart.

Kita and Aran eventually slip away. Sakusa spends the rest of the evening watching party-goers dance together, touching, and laughing, and eating. The part of himself that he seems incapable of repressing yearns for the same. Yearns to feel safe enough to reach out and pluck a fig from the bowl or to wrap an arm around a friend, or feel the whisper of another’s lips against his neck.

Instead, he keeps his hands clasped in his lap and allows himself the indulgence of self-pity.

~

The next morning, true to their word, Aran and Kita find him. They look a little worse for wear after a late night of drinking. At one point last night, Sakusa saw them dancing together, laughing brightly as they leaned into each others’ shoulders.

It didn’t take a scholar to surmise that they had feelings for each other, but whether the other was aware of those feelings was another matter altogether.

Aran, who looks the better of the two, makes to clap Sakusa on the back, but Sakusa flinches away. “So, what looks good today?”

“If you talk about food, I think I’m going to bring up last night’s dinner,” Kita groans.

“That’s disgusting,” Aran quips, but pours out a cup of water and passes it to Kita nonetheless. Kita presses the cup to his cheeks, before downing its contents and pouring himself another.

“Kita isn’t much of a drinker, says it’s ‘bad for you,’” Aran mocks, mirth in his voice. “That’s why he takes it the worst every time he does drink.”

“I’m not much of a drinker either,” Sakusa says. Kita looks at him approvingly, but it’s hard to take seriously with the way Kita is pressing his thumbs to his temples.

“Well then, you’re both going to have an awful time this month.” Aran picks up a ladle and serves himself some stewed fruit. “It is a wedding after all.”

Then, he points the ladle at the plate in front of Sakusa.

Sakusa eyes the spread. So many things catch his eyes. There are the figs, of course. Aran sees him staring and picks all the plumpest ones for Sakusa.

He points out three different cheeses.

After Kita drinks a whole pitcher of water and feels well enough to eat, he takes a bite of sweet cream and his eyes light up, so Sakusa asks for that too. By the end of the meal, he has a plate piled high with ripe fruit and fresh bread and sweet jams.

Aran and Kita walk Sakusa back to his room. Aran sets the plate on the small table near his bed and they leave him alone.

That sliver of privacy touches him more than anything else either of them could have done.

He picks a fig off the plate and bites into it.

After days of tasting nothing but the mint leaves they leave in the baths, the sweetness of the fig nearly moves him to tears. As he works through the plate, Sakusa can’t recall a single moment where food has ever tasted so good.

~

By the end of the first week, not for lack of resistance on Sakusa’s part, Kita and Aran fully envelop him in their fold. They feed him, regale him with stories of their adventures, and pester him about details of his homeland.

He learns that though both of their fathers were Argonauts, both men are impressive by their own right. Kita is a famous musician, who like his father, has perfected playing the lyre. He’s also a practicing astrologer and serves as a court augur and seer, which explains his earlier feelings about Sakusa.

“The nature of your good-fortune has yet to be revealed, but the stars smile on you.” Kita tells him one evening.

Sakusa wants to laugh, because if there’s one thing he’s certain he doesn’t have, it’s good-fortune. He has a lifetime’s worth of troubles to attest to that, stars be damned.

Aran, true to his Athenian blood, is brilliant, and knows something about everything. Like his father, the Minatour slayer, he possesses great strength and has killed many a monster and completed many a quest. And true to his status as a member of the cult of Aphrodite Pandemos, Aran is infuriatingly beautiful.

Sakusa often catches himself flushing and needing to look away when Aran smiles at him, which only serves to make Aran laugh. 

"It's a reaction he gets often," Kita informs him with an eye roll. 

He spends the rest of the week bookmarked between Kita and Aran.

They take to saving him seats at every meal and every celebration and the seventh night is no different.

The three of them watch as, still covered in their shrouds, the prince and his betrothed shatter plates on the ground.

While the guests cheer, Sakusa turns to Aran and Kita. “What does that mean?”

“It’s the Night of Breakings,” Aran says, swirling the wine in his golden goblet. “They break the plates to break any curses, ill-will, or hostilities between them. So they can start clean, so to speak.”

Sakusa nods and turns back to the couple, in significantly higher spirits now than he was the first evening. _Curse breaking plates_ , he muses. _If only it were that simple._

At the end of the night, Kita hands him a plate of sweetmeats and dates and grapes so green they resemble jewels that Sakusa pecks at when he returns to his room.

It’s well past midnight, celebrations long over, when he decides to peel himself from his pallet and make his way to the garden.

The moon hangs heavy in the sky and the stars gleam. Though he can begrudgingly admit that he enjoys Aran and Kita’s company, and is thankful to have someone to explain the inner workings of the court to him, and especially to not be starving anymore, he hasn’t had a moment alone all week.

As he follows the same path he walked down the first time he made his way here, his mind turns to the man he met.

_Atsumu._

Sakusa hasn’t seen him at any of the meals, or celebrations, and no one has mentioned his name, even in passing.

Atsumu could be a servant of the court, but what kind of servant has their own garden? He hasn’t asked Aran and Kita about him either, because the occasion has never arisen.

As path becomes clearing, Sakusa finds himself before the same pond. It’s as breathtakingly beautiful as he remembers it. A breeze picks up that sends shivers down his still party warm neck, but he welcomes it, because it sends the scent of the flowers through the air.

He breathes in deeply and makes his way to the pond’s edge.

That’s when Sakusa spots him.

The moonlight makes his blonde hair easily distinguishable, but that's all Sakusa can see of him.

Atsumu is sitting at the edge of the water, head between his knees, arms crossed atop them, shoulders shaking.

He considers turning around. Sakusa isn’t a conversationalist on the best of days, and he has never known what to say to anyone who’s what? Crying?

That would be the worst possible scenario.

Sakusa takes a step to head back up the path, but steps on a twig. The crack echoes in the empty night and Atsumu whips up to look at him. Sakusa curses his luck.

They stare at each for one beat, two, three.

Then Atsumu does the last thing Sakusa expects. He tips his head back and lets out a deep, full-bellied laugh. It’s tinged with hysteria and he quickly dissolves into tears again.

But Atsumu laughs through those as well and swipes at the tear tracks on his cheeks.

“Well,” he says, waving a hand at the pond. “Don’t let me ruin your night.”

“I…” Sakusa starts, but he really doesn’t know where this is going. Has no idea for the life of him what to say.

So he says what he thinks Komori would say in this situation. “Are you _okay_?” But it comes out harsh, accusing, because he is not made of soft edges the way Komori is.

Atsumu laughs again. “Many would say the answer to that question is no.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Sakusa asks. And they’ve been here before.

Atsumu shakes his head. “No, you’re welcome to stay. I’m over it.”

It would be rude to leave now, wouldn’t it? After he’s witnessed this man cry, and insulted him as well?

Sakusa makes his way to where Atsumu is and sits far enough away from him to feel safe, but not far enough away to offend Atsumu further.

They sit in silence for what feels like forever. The need to fill it crawls up Sakusa’s spine like an insect, and he tries not to squirm.

“I don’t see you at any of the meals or ceremonies,” he finally says into the space between them.

He looks over to find Atsumu raising a brow. “What, you been lookin’ for me?” he asks, voice dripping saccharine.

Sakusa can just make out his puffy eyes and red tipped nose from the glow of the moonlight on the water’s surface.

“No. I just think it odd that you have this whole pond, but you’re not at any of the events the way other members of the court are.”

Now Atsumu gives him a slow, lazy grin. “Oh, so you’re thinkin’ about me then?”

“You were better when you were crying,” Sakusa says conversationally, as though they're discussing the weather.

Atsumu blinks at him, then starts laughing in earnest. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”

“And you’re a terrible person, so you merit it.”

Sakusa sounds petulant even to his own ears. His cheeks feel warm and he’s sure Atsumu can tell he’s flustered.

“For all you know, something terrible could have happened. Maybe I lost the love of my life. Maybe my dear childhood pet just died.”

Sakusa balks at him. “You would equate losing the love of your life with losing your childhood pet?”

Atsumu shrugs and pulls at the grass. “Loss is loss.”

That is a stupidly effective argument. Sakusa clamps his mouth shut before he can embarrass himself further. He’s able to manage it for a moment before curiosity gets the better of him.

“What were you crying about, then?”

Now, it's Atsumu’s turn to be silent. He’s quiet for so long that Sakusa doesn’t think he’s going to answer the question.

Atsumu exhales deeply and stares at the water. Their reflections look warped on its surface.

“Something bad is going to happen to someone I love.”

Sakusa stills. That is not what he was expecting at all.

“Something bad is going to happen and I can’t do anything to stop it,” Atsumu pushes on.

“Can you warn them?” Sakusa asks. He watches as Atsumu opens his mouth to speak, but the words seem to die on his tongue, and his jaw clenches shut. Atsumu repeats this motion many times until his forehead screws up in frustration and he buries his face in his hands.

He takes deep breaths and when he looks back up at Sakusa, he whispers, “I can’t.”

Anguish, the likes of which Sakusa has never heard before, lives in those two words.

But then, Sakusa understands something of inability. His inability to hold another, his inability to touch anything without ruining it, or worse, killing it.

Sakusa knows something of the kind of desperation that seems to be gripping Atsumu tonight, even if he knows nothing else about Atsumu.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and means it. “It must be frustrating.”

New tears well up in Atsumu’s eyes, but he doesn’t look away, so Sakusa doesn’t either.

“Like you wouldn’t believe. I feel like I’m trapped in my own mind.”

A few tears roll down Atsumu’s cheek and Sakusa wishes that he could reach out and feel their moisture against his own skin.

As it is though, he keeps his hands clenched tightly into fists and says, “It’s easier said than done, but if the situation is out of your control, then you shouldn’t concern yourself with what you can’t do.”

Atsumu flops back onto the grass. “You're right, Sakusa. No use cryin’ over spilled wine and all that.”

Sakusa doesn’t respond. He doesn’t think the metaphor quite holds, but rather than argue, he also falls back into the grass and stares at the night sky. The stars are overwhelming in their beauty. He wonders if he has the ability to destroy something as far away as a star, if he could touch it and snuff out its flames with just the tips of his fingers.

Some would call an ability like that power. The thought just makes Sakusa want to tear his skin off, layer by layer.

Atsumu’s breathing evens out next to him, and Sakusa thinks that maybe Atsumu also knows something of the need to shake off that which holds him captive.

~

At breakfast the next morning, he finds Kita and Aran already at the table that has become theirs. He sits across from them, hands in his lap, and leans forward.

“I have a question.”

“What, no good morning?” Aran quips, picking up a bread roll and a butter knife.

“Not for you,” but there's amusement there.

Aran rolls his eyes at him and resumes the task of buttering his roll, but there's the hint of a smile on his face.

“What’s your question, Sakusa?” This, from Kita, who’s nibbling on a cantaloupe slice.

“Do you know someone named Atsumu?”

The clattering of Aran’s knife hitting the table makes many people turn their way. Aran picks it up and smiles at them apologetically.

Aran and Kita share a look. When the onlookers return to their meals, Aran whispers harshly, “Where did you hear that name?”

“I asked you a question first.”

Aran leans in closer. “No games, Sakusa. Where did you hear that name?”

Sakusa casts a net with his mind. He fumbles for an excuse that sounds convincing. Every good lie contains a seed of truth, or something like that. Then, he recalls.

“There were servants outside my door talking once. They mentioned bringing drinks to someone named Atsumu. But I haven’t met anyone with that name.”

Kita, who in the short time Sakusa has known him has learned is the worst liar on this side of the Mediterranean Sea, tries for an easy smile. “Well, you’re not exactly social.”

“But you two introduced me to everyone here by the fourth night,” Sakusa reminds him.

Kita’s smile drops. “You can’t say that name out loud,” he sighs and pushes away his plate. “At least, not in public.”

Aran looks at Kita and Sakusa sees something akin to heartbreak flash across his face. “We’ll explain in your room,” he says.

~

By the time they make it back to Sakusa’s room, the sun is high in the sky.

He opens his door and lets them into the bedroom that has been his for the past eight days. Kita sits on the stool nearest Sakusa’s chest of clothes. Aran perches on the edge of Sakusa’s bed.

They both seem to be gathering themselves, so Sakusa takes off his sandals and sits at the head of his bed.

Finally, Aran breaks the silence. “Before we say anything, we have questions for you.”

There are a million ways this could go wrong, but Sakusa forces himself to nod.

“How do you really know Atsumu?” Kita asks.

“It’s as I said,” Sakusa twists his hands into the sheet covering the bed and tries to push away his guilt at lying. “I overheard servants speaking. They sounded anxious.”

“What did the servants say?” Kita asks, kicking his legs back and forth.

“Just that they weren’t supposed to leave his door.” Sakusa doesn’t actually know if those servants were talking about Atsumu, but with the reaction his name is inspiring, he doesn’t think he’s too far from the truth.

“Ah,” Kita says sagely, as if this information makes perfect sense to him. “Well. That would be accurate.”

“Why?” Sakusa asks. “Who is he?”

“Atsumu is—” Aran begins, but the words falter before they can make their way out and he clicks his mouth shut.

“Atsumu is our friend,” Kita announces.

Sakusa looks at him incredulously. “What? Then why are you two acting like you’re speaking of a cursed man?”

This makes Aran speak. “Atsumu has been our friend since childhood. He’s the son of a,” he hesitates for a moment, “Court family, as we are. However, when he was fifteen he…”

Aran trails off and looks to Kita a little helplessly.

“He fell ill,” Kita finishes. “A sickness of the mind. He began hallucinating, seeing and hearing all sorts of dreadful things. His family prefers he remain in his rooms, so as not to provoke any more visions.”

Sakusa thinks back to the man he met at the pond. Aside from seeming distraught over his inability to help a loved one, he seemed okay. But then, Sakusa has only met the man twice.

He remembers how Atsumu’s amber eyes looked filled with tears, as though the moon itself was trapped beneath the surface of a lake.

“Why can’t anyone speak of him?”

Now Kita looks away, eyes burning a hole into the wall. “Atsumu is his family’s first born son. He excelled at riding and archery and was daring and had a string of admirers. He was their pride and joy. But after he got sick…”

Kita swallows thickly. Sakusa almost feels bad for making him relive whatever it is he’s currently seeing in his mind’s eye.

“After he got sick, he changed.” Aran says. “He cried a lot, screamed often. His family claimed it was all nonsense. In between those moments, he was barely a husk of his old self, and his family was ashamed.”

“So they hid him away?” Sakusa asks.

“So they hid him away,” Aran agrees, but Sakusa doesn’t miss the way his voice cracks.

“I’m sorry for asking,” Sakusa says and finds that he means it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on [twt](https://twitter.com/littleboatau)! as always, thank you so much to [stefansgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stefansgirl) for being my beta reader :>


	2. Chapter 2

Between seeing Atsumu cry and learning what he does, something flickers on in Sakusa. 

Their situations resemble each other only in parallels, but he can’t shake the desire to learn more about Atsumu. 

Sakusa’s whole life has involved being gawked at like a curio, while Atsumu’s has involved being hidden away like an antique. 

Something about that compels Sakusa. 

That night, he leaves the celebration early, plate of food wrapped in a cloth napkin in hand, and sets off towards the garden with purpose. 

He finds Atsumu sitting at the lip of the pond again, bare feet kicking lazy waves into the water. 

Atsumu doesn’t look up when he says, “You’re back.” 

Sakusa nods and sits down, keeping the same distance he did last night. 

“I didn’t scare you away?” 

Sakusa doesn’t answer, rather, he places the food between them. 

Atsumu finally turns to him. “What’s this?” he asks, gesturing at the plate with his chin.

“Food,” Sakusa says. “From the celebration.”

Disgust warps Atsumu’s face. “I don’t want any.” 

Sakusa unwraps the plate and pushes it closer to Atsumu. “Because you’re not invited?” 

Atsumu’s jaw drops. “How can you just say that? How do you even _know_ that”

Sakusa shrugs and picks up a lokum, biting half of it off. 

He swallows before he speaks. “Tonight was the Night of Constellations. Kita read the prince and his betrothed’s stars. He said they were fated to be lovers across nine iterations of the galaxy.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” Atsumu stares at the plate in contempt. Then his eyes fall to Sakusa’s hands. “Why are you eating in gloves?”

“My hands are injured,” Sakusa says, as though he’s speaking about the weather. 

They sit in silence for a while. Sakusa pops a dried apricot into his mouth. It’s tangy, the way he prefers them. 

He hasn’t eaten in front of anyone but Komori and his father and their retinue of servants in so long. Sakusa still rarely eats in front of Kita and Aran, but he does so with ease in front of Atsumu. Knowing that Atsumu is as ostracized as Sakusa is, even if it is a unilateral knowledge, brings him comfort. 

“What did Kita say?” Atsumu finally asks. 

“That across Sagitta, Augira, Cassiopeia, and Aries, the couple were in perfect alignment.”

Atsumu pulls a handful of grass and throws it in Sakusa’s direction. None of it makes it very far before it flutters to the ground. “Not about the wedding, about me.” 

Sakusa cocks a brow at him. “What makes you think Kita told me anything about you?” 

“Because he told me that someone came around askin’ for me. Somethin’ about guards screamin’ my name or whatever.” Atsumu purses his lips. “Pretty bold of you to lie to a seer.” 

The last part of that statement gives Sakusa pause. “Does he know that I lied to him?” 

“Who could know,” Atsumu says. “His seein’ ain’t linear. He could have known you were gonna lie to him before you did it, but he could find out months after. But now he knows you know about me.”

Atsumu grins at him, waggling his eyebrows.

Sakusa snorts. “You’re awfully confident for someone who’s been throwing a pity party in a garden while a wedding’s going on.” 

Atsumu smile drops into a pout. Sakusa isn’t sure which one bothers him more.

“You’re here too, aren’t you?”

“I don’t like crowded spaces,” Sakusa explains. “My own court is often much quieter than this one.” 

Atsumu glances over at the plate between them. His eyes linger on a cake topped with spun sugar, but he tears his gaze away. “Priam helped fight the Amazons. You know soldiers are always rowdy.”

Sakusa’s eyes slide over Atsumu’s bare arms, his broad shoulders, his long, sculpted legs. He takes up a lot of space, Sakusa thinks distantly. “Are you a soldier?” 

Atsumu shakes his head. “No, but my father was.” Sakusa feels, more than sees, Atsumu look him up and down. “Are you?”

“No, though one of my relatives also knows something of fighting the Amazons.” 

Atsumu nods, then his eyes cut back to the cake. 

“You should eat it,” Sakusa says, staring deliberately ahead.

From the corner of his eye, Sakusa sees Atsumu jump. 

“I don’t _want_ it.”

“You sound like a child throwing a fit.”

Atsumu huffs and picks up the cake. “Fine, I’ll eat it.” He shoves half the cake into his mouth. “Happy?” he asks around a mouthful. 

“Disgusted, more like,” Sakusa says, but the humor in his voice betrays him. “Chew with your mouth closed.” 

When Atsumu finishes the first cake and reaches for a second, Sakusa asks. “Is this pond really yours?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu says. “It was gifted to me a few years ago.”

“Why?”

“One of my relatives courted favor with the King. Priam owed him a debt and this was how he asked it be paid.” 

“Nepotism,” Sakusa says dryly. 

Atsumu chokes on the bite of cake he’s just taken and splutters. “Are you not also court born? Explain the contradiction.” 

Sakusa does something he hasn’t done since before he left for Troy. He laughs, small and contained, but laughs nonetheless. 

~

“Where’d you wander off to last night?” Aran asks the next morning. 

“You missed my performance,” Kita says.

Sakusa watches them pile food onto their plates. “I went for a walk.” 

Kita raises an eyebrow, but gestures to the empty plate next to his own. Sakusa points out some melon and jam and a thick yogurt. Kita loads it with food, sets Sakusa’s plate aside, and tucks into his own meal. 

“I apologize for missing your performance, Kita.” 

Kita shrugs. “I’ll perform again on the thirtieth night.” 

Aran turns to Kita. “ _That’s_ your gift?”

“What’s wrong with that?” Kita asks, stabbing a berry with a knife and bringing it to his lips. 

“You always perform for us.”

“Yes, but this is a special performance. Father is allowing me to perform with the lyre he took to the Underworld.” 

Sakusa gasps. How did he not put it together earlier? Kita, Son of Orpheus. Of course it would be _the_ Orpheus who traveled to the Underworld and lived. “Your father still has that lyre? I thought surely it would have been destroyed.” 

A sad smile pulls at Kita’s lips. “Yes. He played it for my mother on their wedding day. Every time he thinks to destroy the thing, he remembers how she danced to it. I was two when it happened, so I don’t recall much of her.” 

Aran wraps an arm around Kita, and Kita leans in, pressing his temple to Aran’s shoulder. A sick kind of envy pulses hot in Sakusa’s core at the ease of their intimacy and he has to turn away from them. 

“What will you be gifting the Prince, Sakusa?” Kita asks, pulling away from Aran. 

Sakusa welcomes the distraction that tip-toeing around this particular question affords, and pushes his lingering jealousy away. 

After many years of playing this game, his answer comes out with practiced ease. “I will treat the Prince to a rarity found exclusively at my court.” 

Aran grins at him. “Ever the mysterious, aren’t you, Sakusa?”

Sakusa gives a rueful smile back. “A man can’t reveal all his secrets.” 

“Secrets, yes,” Kita says, swirling the water in his goblet around. 

~

As the second week bleeds into the third, Sakusa settles into a new routine. He spends his days with Kita and Aran, stuffing himself on ripe fruit and tender meats and soft cheeses and listening to court gossip at every meal.

He spends his evenings learning about new wedding customs, watching all the guests eye the prince and his betrothed with a mix of joy and envy. 

But it’s his nights that change the most. Sakusa begins to spend his nights with Atsumu, partially by happenstance. 

Atsumu, Sakusa quickly learns, is the type of infuriating that buries itself under Sakusa’s skin and eats away at all of his common sense.

They’re sitting by the pond, as they often are, shoes abandoned by the benches. 

“Wanna see what I brought?” Atsumu asks. 

“Not interested,” Sakusa says.

“Suit yourself,” Atsumu says with a shrug. Sakusa watches out of the corner of his eye as Atsumu pulls out a cloth bag. 

He opens it, reaches a hand in, and throws out a handful. By the way all of the ducks trip over themselves to get to it, Sakusa discerns that it must be grain. 

A fat duck waddles by, her ducklings scrambling to keep a line behind her. 

“They’re so _cute,"_ Sakusa coos under his breath.

Atsumu whips around to look at him, eyes wide. “ _What_ did you just say?”

Sakusa sits up straight and clears his throat. “Nothing. I said nothing.” 

“Liar,” Atsumu grins, holding the bag out for Sakusa. 

He shakes his head. Atsumu tries nudging the bag in his direction a few more times, but Sakusa keeps his hands pressed to his sides. 

Atsumu shrugs as if to say ‘suit yourself.’

“Her name is Penelope. She gave birth two weeks ago.”

“You _named_ the duck?” 

“Yup,” Atsumu beams. “And all of her ducklings too.” 

Before Atsumu can begin listing off their names, a duckling half the size of all the rest stumbles by, lagging behind all the others. 

“What’s the one’s name?” Sakusa asks, staring wide-eyed at and enamored with the poor little duckling struggling to keep up.

“I’ve never seen that one before,” Atsumu says. “It doesn’t have a name. Wanna give it one?”

“Can I?” 

Atsumu grins. “Of course you can.” 

Sakus racks his brain for names that suit the tiny creature. He watches as it flaps its wings and trips over its own feet. 

“How about Agatha?” 

“Agatha,” Atsumu repeats, rolling the name over in his mouth. “Agatha is a very _cute_ name.” 

“Shut up,” Sakusa gripes, heat rising to his cheeks. 

“Agatha looks hungry,” Atsumu says, placing the sack within Sakusa’s reach. “And she’s too far away for me to feed her.” 

Sakusa bites down on his lip to stop the grin from splitting his face. “Oh no, whatever shall we do?”

“Poor Agatha will starve.” 

“We can’t have that,” Sakusa says and does something he’s never done around anyone except Komori before. He reaches hesitantly for the bag, waits for a few moments, and when nothing happens, sticks his hand in and pulls out a handful of grain. It crunches against the leather of his glove, and he savors the feeling, before sprinkling the food on the ground near little Agatha. 

He watches as the duckling pecks at the grain. It rights itself and waddles over to Sakusa. He watches in fascination then disbelief as it bends down and nibbles at his toe. 

“Agatha bit me,” he gasps. 

“Agatha bit you,” Atsumu repeats, barely holding in his laughter. 

Sakusa turns back to the little duck, to find it already running to catch up with its mother. 

“Little bastard,” Sakusa says. 

At that, Atsumu loses his composure, leaning over and laughing loudly. 

And this time, Sakusa doesn’t hold back his smile. 

~

The worst is the night that Atsumu rolls out a new nickname for Sakusa. It makes him want to wring Atsumu’s neck, curse be damned. 

“Omi-omi,” Atsumu greets, when Sakusa settles down on the bench that has become his. 

_"What_ did you just call me?” 

That is the wrong reaction, because Sakusa sees the exact moment the glint in Atsumu’s eyes turns from friendly to mischievous. 

“Omi-omi?” Atsumu says, grinning impossibly wider. “What, you don’t like it? All my friends get nicknames.”

“We,” Sakusa says, pointing between the two of them. “Are _not_ friends.”

Atsumu pouts, and this time the fullness of his lower lip does not escape Sakusa’s attention. “You’ve come to see me every night for more than two weeks. And in the middle of the most illustrious wedding in all the land, no less. What would you call _that?"_

Sakusa crosses his arms over his chest and musters up his nastiest glare. “A relationship of circumstance.”

“Oh?” Atsumu quirks a brow, smile returning. “And what exactly are the circumstances of our, what did you call it?” He pretends to think for a moment. “Ah, right, _relationship_.” 

A shiver runs down Sakusa’s spine. Atsumu is flirting with him. The thought zips through his mind, in a voice that sounds suspiciously like Komori’s. _Flirt back_ , the voice suggests. Sakusa tamps it down and makes a note to kick Komori when he returns to Phrygia.

“The circumstances,” Sakusa grinds out. “Are that I needed a quiet place, and you, insufferable though you may be, seem to have acquired a whole enclave.” 

Atsumu laughs at him, and laughs harder when Sakusa’s frown deepens. “No need to get so prickly, Omi-omi.” 

“Keep it up and I’ll leave,” Sakusa says by way of warning. 

Atsumu lies back across his bench. “You wouldn’t.”

Sakusa is tempted to leave, just to prove his point, but the thought makes his heart clench. The truth of the matter is that aside from Komori, Sakusa’s never had easy conversations with anyone like this before, even though he and Atsumu often bicker. 

Even Kita and Aran, who have welcomed him fully, usually have to goad him into conversation. But Atsumu doesn’t yet feel like a real person outside of the confines of this garden. Sakusa feels like he could shout his deepest secrets at Atsumu, and they would disappear with the sunrise.

“What did the King feed his most esteemed guests tonight?” Atsumu asks, plucking a bright blue cornflower out of the ground and twirling the stem between his fingers. 

Sakusa’s frown takes on a different meaning as he recalls the meal. “Tonight it was an egg stuffed into a hen stuffed into a goat stuffed into a sheep.”

Atsumu catches the disgusted face Sakusa pulls. “I have no issue with any of those on their own, but I’ll never understand the fascination with putting them inside of each other.” 

“Precisely,” Sakusa says with a shudder. He brightens when he recalls the main debacle of the night. “There were at least fifteen different wines and one man drank too much and fell off the balcony.”

Atsumu winces. “Was he alright?”

Sakusa shrugs. “I didn’t stay long enough to find out. I heard him scream something about thunder though.”

“That’s cold, Omi-omi.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Atsumu just pulls another cornflower out of the ground. “Bring me some of the Athenian cakes tomorrow. Have Aran pick them out, he knows the best ones.” 

Sakusa is tempted to throw something at Atsumu, but the next day, he asks Aran about the cakes and wraps them up carefully. He forces himself to remain neutral when he gives them to Atsumu and they make him smile so bright he nearly glows. 

~

The days go by and slowly, something between him and Atsumu begins to shift. Rather than pretend the other won’t be coming to the garden, Sakusa begins to slip away from the ceremonies a little earlier each night, and Atsumu begins to wait for him. 

Kita and Aran pretend not to notice when Sakusa starts requesting double the amount of food he usually eats, when he suddenly develops a sweet tooth for things that aren’t just fruit, when he begins to time his departures. 

Sakusa pretends that it’s not because he wants to see Atsumu that much sooner, to listen to him speak longer. 

This particular evening, he finds Atsumu sitting against a tree. He stands when he sees Sakusa.

“What was tonight?” Atsumu asks, reaching for the wrapped platter of food Sakusa brought with him. 

“The Night of Illumination,” Sakusa hands it over, careful not to let their hands brush. “They lit lanterns and dropped them into the river to illuminate their lives together.” 

Atsumu chooses a sugar glazed quince and sets the plate down on one of the benches. “That’s cute,” he says, mouth full. At Sakusa’s glare, Atsumu chews and swallows before he continues. “We’re going somewhere today.”

“Where?” 

“You’ll see,” Atsumu says with a wink. 

He does that often. Smiles at Sakusa, winks at him. Small flirtations that can easily be written off as just Atsumu, but are also a reminder that Sakusa can always engage. He always pushes the longing away, but thrills a little every time Atsumu turns the full weight of his attention onto Sakusa. 

Atsumu leads him down a path Sakusa has never seen before, maroon cloak billowing behind him. 

The night around them has gotten chilly enough that goosebumps rise on Sakusa’s bare arms and legs. 

Komori had informed him that Troy was a land of eternal summer, so Sakusa packed lighter materials and cloaks that were more for aesthetics than functionality. No one thought to warn him about the nights. 

Eyeing the material draped across Atsumu’s shoulder, Sakusa regrets that decision. He hopes that Atsumu is leading them towards a hot spring or an open fire. 

They walk for some time, Atsumu chattering intermittently. Somewhere along the way, the neatly trimmed path becomes wild grasses and flowers growing in random bursts. 

Sakusa follows Atsumu’s path, stepping where he steps. 

Cold wind whips the air around them, shaking the trees and kicking up dust. Sakusa shivers violently and curses his wardrobe.

“Cold?” Atsumu asks.

“Way to state the obvious,” Sakusa bites back. 

“You don’t gotta pout, Omi-omi.” Atsumu unclasps his cape from around his neck and drapes it around Sakusa. “Here.”

“I’m not pouting,” Sakusa splutters, trying to push the fabric back towards Atsumu. “And I don’t _want_ it.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Atsumu shrugs. “You’re cold, you should wear it.”

“What about you?” 

“I run warm. You wanna feel?” Atsumu wiggles his fingers towards Sakusa. Sakusa scoffs and stalks forward. 

He’d never admit to it, but the cloak helps immensely. It’s thick and lined with wool and smells unmistakably of Atsumu, who Sakusa now knows smells of mint and cardamom. He’ll deny the way he inhales the smell till the day he dies. 

“Watch your step,” Atsumu says. 

Sakusa doesn’t know what Atsumu means at first, but a moment later, the ground tapers off into a cliff. 

“Walk slowly,” Atsumu warns, creeping towards the edge. He lowers himself slowly and then he’s sitting with his legs hanging off the side of the cliff. 

Atsumu smiles at Sakusa, waving him over. Sakusa picks his way over, careful not to upset any of the rocks on the precarious cliffside.

There isn’t much space to maneuver, so he’s forced to sit closer to Atsumu than he would like. 

“Close your eyes,” Atsumu tells him, and there’s glee in his voice. Against his better judgement, Sakusa does as he’s told. 

Sakusa waits in silence for a few moments. He can hear the sound of his own heart pounding against the confines of his rib cage, can hear the sound of Atsumu’s breathing, soft and steady, can hear the sounds of pebbles rolling and the mountain creaking. 

“Open them,” Atsumu says, voice hushed. 

All of the air leaves Sakusa’s lungs when he looks down. 

The ocean glows a deep, bright blue. What appear to be small blue fallen stars fleck the waves and move in and out with the push and pull of the water. They cast a blue glow on the sand, and every wave that crashes makes Sakusa feel like he’s watching galaxies being created and destroyed, over and over again. 

He’s never seen anything like this and doesn’t think he ever will again. The grandness of the beauty he’s being made to bear witness to makes him feel miniscule. All thoughts of his curse, his misfortune, the beginning and end of his existence leave him, and for the first time in his life, his mind is blissfully silent.

For all that he’s raged against the circumstances that brought him here, for all the anger he’s felt over these past weeks, Sakusa realizes that it was all of those things that brought him to this exact moment and to the man who’s given it to him. 

Sakusa finally manages to tear his gaze away from the water and towards Atsumu. 

He’s startled to find that Atsumu is already looking at him, the soft smile gracing his features unlike any smile he’s given Sakusa before. 

“How?” Sakusa rasps.

“There are creatures in the water that glow at night,” Atsumu says, his voice gentle. 

“They’re beautiful,” Sakusa says, heart in his throat. 

“Yeah,” Atsumu says, but he sounds far away. 

In the moonlight, Atsumu’s dark eyelashes look soft as they flutter against his cheeks. The fullness of his lips is so inviting and Sakusa finds himself being drawn in. He’s surprised to find that Atsumu has a few freckles dusting the bridge of his nose. Sakusa is close enough to count them even, if he wanted to. 

It’s that detail that brings the reality of the situation crashing down on him. Sakusa jolts back with a gasp. Atsumu’s face warps from shock to horror as Sakusa fails to find purchase for his hands. 

Sakusa slips off the edge, just barely managing to grasp onto the lip of the cliff. 

Where looking down was once beautiful, it now shows Sakusa certain death. He twists his eyes shut and forces himself to breath. In through his nose, out through his mouth. 

“Sakusa,” Atsumu shouts. “Sakusa, I got you.” 

“Don’t _touch_ me,” Sakusa screams, voice hoarse. 

_Think, think_ he urges himself. 

The cliff isn’t sturdy enough for him to pull himself up and he doesn’t know how long he can hang on. He hasn’t trained in over two weeks. 

He can try to swing himself upwards, but if that fails, then he loses his hold on the mountain. Maybe if he—

A pair of strong hands wrap around the forearm he’s using to hold onto the rocks. 

“No, stop, let go!” Sakusa screams shrilly, panic flooding his voice. 

“Stop being stupid and give me your other hand,” Atsumu yells, voice strained with the effort of supporting Sakusa’s weight. 

_"No,"_ he tries again. Then, he opens his eyes and chances a glance down. The sight of the rocks, a sharp menacing mouth waiting to swallow him, and the ocean waiting to pull him under makes him reach out for Atsumu’s hands. 

Atsumu grabs a hold of him and heaves him up and over and doesn’t stop until they’re yards away from the edge. 

For a while, Sakusa can see nothing, hear nothing, except for the rocks at the bottom of the cliff, the hard crack of the waves every time they beat against the mountain side. 

After a moment, he realizes that someone is speaking to him. 

“—okay? Sakusa, are you okay?”

Everything comes back to him slowly, but that voice is Atsumu’s voice. They’ve collapsed into a heap on the ground, Atsumu’s arms wrapped tightly around him. His ragged breathing is heavy in Sakusa’s ear. 

Sakusa tears himself away like he’s burned. 

“Fine, I’m fine,” he chokes out. “Are _you_ okay?”

He runs his eyes over Atsumu, checking for any signs that the curse has inflicted him. He seems fine, but everyone seems fine for the first few moments. 

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Atsumu sounds bewildered. “You’re the one who was danglin’ off a cliff. And besides that, why were screamin’ at me not to touch you? How else was I supposed to help you?”

Atsumu is shouting, indignant. Angry on Sakusa’s behalf, he realizes belatedly. 

Sakusa shakes his head frantically. How does he explain this without ruining the one thing he has with the one person who doesn’t know who he is, doesn’t know why others stay so far away. 

“I can’t,” Sakusa says, staring down at his leather covered hands. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Atsumu’s voice softens, reaching a hand out towards Sakusa. 

Anger and panic form a vice grip on his heart. “ _Don’t_.”

Atsumu brings his hand back to his side. “But if you could just tell me _why_.”

And why does Atsumu sound so hurt? Why is that all Sakusa seems to be capable of doing?

He stands on shaky legs, ignoring the hand Atsumu offers him. 

“Thank you for this,” Sakusa gestures behind him. “Apologies for ruining your evening,” he says, tone clipped.

The cold facade slips back into place like it never lifted. Like he hadn’t spent weeks letting someone else take a hammer to the walls he’s spent his whole life erecting. 

Stupid. He’s so _stupid._ Hasn’t life shown him enough times _what_ he can’t have and _why_ exactly he can’t have it?

“Wait, Sakusa, stop—” 

Sakusa ignores Atsumu and treks back down the path they came. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on [twt](https://twitter.com/littleboatau)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! pls check the updated tags and the end for some additional notes, but be warned that the additional end notes do contain some spoilers!

He wakes up the next morning and immediately considers going back to sleep.

The sun shining in through the window is too bright for his foul mood. It’s his fault, he supposes, for thinking that he could have a moment of peace, a moment of  _ goddammit _ , romance even, without finding a way to ruin it. 

_ Romance _ . 

He groans into his pillow at the thought. Last night, looking at Atsumu, Sakusa had come closer to lowering his guard than ever before. 

Sakusa has never felt so  _ embarrassed _ and so angry at himself. He isn’t a child, hung up on their first crush. Hung up on the first person who made them feel wanted. What he did last night put Atsumu’s life in danger. 

And Atsumu. Atsumu is just a young man, same as Sakusa. When Sakusa returns to Phrygia, Atsumu will be a name, then a faded face, then a distant memory. And Sakusa isn’t in the habit of getting hung up on memories, no matter how nicely they smile at him.

So why then, does he make his way to the garden again that night? Why does he sit next to Atsumu at the lip of the pond, procure a loaf of bread, and spend the evening feeding the swans with him?

They don’t say a word that evening, hardly even look at each other. 

The next night, Atsumu brings a book, tells Sakusa it was his favorite as a child, and reads to him about a princess who was so lonely she used to press shells to her ear just to hear something that wasn’t her own voice, until one day, she picked up a shell and met a hermit crab who became her first friend. 

The story touches a wound in Sakusa’s heart he didn’t know was still tender. 

And the night after that, Sakusa tells Atsumu about a scholar who visited his father’s court from a far away city called Baghdad, where they had a library so big it was rumored to contain all the world’s knowledge. 

“I’d like to visit there someday,” Sakusa says. 

“I’d like to come with you,” Atsumu replies, holding Sakusa’s gaze.

As the nights wear on, Sakusa confirms that Atsumu is a whiner and pouter and a maker of petty demands. But between that, Sakusa also learns that Atsumu is brilliant. He’s read about everything: drama, the poetry of Homer, military strategy, medicine, politics. 

Supposedly, he can even play the harp.

On more than one occasion, Sakusa finds himself wondering if the library the scholar spoke of isn’t actually Atsumu’s mind. 

Atsumu is a gifted speaker, and without even trying, his ideas come out bold and persuasive. Their conversations are as one-sided as Sakusa allows them to be. On days when he is feeling particularly talkative, Atsumu yields the floor to Sakusa, asking him questions and listening earnestly to his answers. On days when Sakusa would rather not speak, Atsumu fills the silence. 

It’s radically different to the gossip of the wealthy and powerful he is forced to endure at every meal.

“How do you know all of this?” Sakusa finally asks at the end of the third week. Atsumu has just finished explaining his argument on a minute detail of the Iliad that Sakusa has never even heard of before.

They’re both sitting by the pond, still at the same distance Sakusa keeps between them. They’ve ditched their sandals and are kicking their feet in the water, to the dismay of the swans. 

“I have a lot of time,” Atsumu says. 

Sakusa bites back a groan. For all that they’ve spoken about these past weeks, they’ve always danced around this topic. But today, Sakusa feels humbled and outraged by Atsumu’s intellect, and the way it’s being wasted. 

If Sakusa’s father knew Atsumu, he’d scout him immediately and have him commanding his own unit within the week. It’s not as though Sakusa is unintelligent, or not gifted strategically, but more often than not, he finds himself rebelling against the outward displays of excellence his father demands.

“With how much you know, you could easily be a scholar, or a military strategist. So what exactly are you doing out here when you should be inside wrapping the court around your finger?” Sakusa snaps.

Every time Sakusa grumbles, Atsumu’s laugh fills the night air around them. He has a nice laugh, not that Sakusa would ever tell him, and Sakusa slowly starts to thrill every time it’s something he says or does that pulls that laugh out of Atsumu.

But tonight is different. Tonight, Atsumu isn’t laughing. 

His fists tighten into the skirt of his chiton. “Aran and Kita already explained the gist of it to you, didn’t they.”

“They did,” Sakusa agrees. “But that doesn’t matter. So what if you’re ill or have visions or whatever the case may be? Does illness take away from the undeniable fact that you’re brilliant?” 

And there it is, the proverbial elephant, finally being called to center stage in this strange little place they’ve carved for themselves. 

“You don’t understand,” Atsumu says, face tight, eyebrows pinched together. 

Sakusa tamps down on the inexplicable urge to reach out and smooth the crease. 

“Then explain it to me.”

“Well what about you?” Atsumu snaps. “You still won’t explain what happened at the cliff. But you think that you're somehow entitled to an encyclopedic explanation of the circumstances that define my life? You don’t get to know people’s intimacies if you won’t share any of your own.” 

Atsumu’s response comes like a slap in the face. They haven’t spoken about the ordeal at the cliff since it happened. Sakusa was thankful for the small mercy Atsumu had afforded him, but it seemed his period of grace was short lived.

Sakusa’s face burns. “That’s different. There are things about myself that I can’t share.” 

Atsumu turns a heated glare his way. “Then I think you’d do well to understand that they aren’t at all different.” 

With that, he stands, gathers his shoes, and leaves the clearing. 

Atsumu has never been the first to leave their pond, and Sakusa is stabbed with prick after prick of guilt. 

Another, marginally less alarming thought comes to him. When did he start to think of it as  _ their _ pond? 

~

Aran takes one look at Sakusa the next morning and announces that they’re skipping court and going to the beach. 

“I’m not going to the beach,” Sakusa says, glaring at Aran. 

“But you are,” Kita says, gathering up a whole day’s worth of food for all of them and wrapping it in secure bundles with the cloth napkins. 

Sakusa frowns at Kita, at the easy going shrug of his shoulders. “I hate crowds.”

“Well Kita and I will be going to the beach,” Aran says. “If you’d rather stay here and listen to the old crones drone about which son they need to marry off and which princess from a foreign land they’re trying to court favor with, then be my guest.”

And fuck if that isn’t the most persuasive argument Sakusa has heard in ages. 

He sighs and rises from the table, trailing after Aran. 

~

The ocean, when they arrive, takes Sakusa’s breath away. It is a startling shade of blue, the likes of which he’s only seen in paintings. Though they’ve been looking out at the sea at every meal, seeing the waves up close during the daylight hours leaves him awestruck.

Then, he spots the people. 

“Aran, you promised it wouldn’t be crowded,” Sakusa groans, distastefully eyeing all the dozens of people milling about. 

“Quit yer grumblin’,” Kita says.

But Aran just laughs, nose scrunching up with the movement. “The main part of the beach is always crowded, but we’re gonna take you to our secret spot.” 

Aran gives Sakusa a smile like they’re sharing a secret plot, just the two of them.

He leads them up a pile of rocks, between trees, and down a short path, until they reach a tide pool. 

The water is the same clear blue as the ocean, but beneath its surface, Sakusa can see starfish and long, leafy plants, and shells and pebbles in every color imaginable. 

Sakusa crouches down to get a closer look and can’t help the soft, breathless “wow,” that leaves his mouth. 

“Told ya,” Aran says, and leans down next to him, peering into the tide pool. 

“How did you find this place?” Sakusa asks. He wants nothing more than to reach out and dip his fingers into the water, feel the spines of the starfish, and the slimy plants. 

When he was younger, and too afraid to touch things with any part of his body, Komori used to touch things for the both of them, and dictate his findings back to Sakusa. 

As they got older, Sakusa began to press his feet to things, or ask Komori to run them across the inside of his forearms. Not for the first time, he finds himself wishing for his cousin. 

“We found it when we were kids,” Kita says. 

“The both of you?” 

Kita shakes his head. “No, you’ve only met two fifths of a quintet.”

“Oh gods,” Sakusa groans. “You mean there’s three more just like you?”

Aran grins wickedly. “Nope, the other three are infinitely worse. Each one worse than the other, in fact.” 

Sakusa prays he never has to learn just how bad the other three actually are. But curiosity gets the better of him, because he asks, “Where are the other three?” 

Kita hums. “You’ll meet two of them eventually, I’m sure. The third is Atsumu.”

“Who is,” Aran says, picking up the thread of conversation. “Without a doubt the worst of the three.” 

He ponders this and concludes that pouty, whiny, too-proud, attention loving Atsumu could very easily be the worst of any group.

Sakusa spends the rest of the day kicking his feet in the water, watching Aran and Kita wade through the ocean. 

Aran proudly shows off the collection of seashells he’s amassed over the course of the day, and Kita shows them how to use the seaweed extract on their skin. 

By the time they return to the palace, Sakusa and Kita are a shade of pink just bordering on sunburnt and Aran, the only one able to properly tan, spends all of dinner teasing them about it. 

“Are you feeling better?” Kita asks later.

They’re standing in front of Sakusa’s door, and he feels something like a child being escorted to his bedroom.

“Better?” He frowns. “I wasn’t feeling bad in the first place.”

Denial was the first and most important lesson he learned from a childhood spent getting into trouble with Komori.

“Yeah right. We saw you throwin’ a pity party this mornin’.” Aran grins at him. “Save us a seat if you get to the hall before us.”

Sakusa is so, so thankful that his sun pink cheeks hide his flush.

In his room, he disrobes and then heads to the baths. They’re empty at this hour, because everyone is preparing to head to the great hall. 

The warm water stings at first, but after a few moments, the tension leaves his muscles. He scrubs the sand out of his hair and watches the pieces sink to the bottom of the bath. 

Pity party? Could they really tell Sakusa was throwing a pity party this morning? If he asked Komori, which Sakusa never would, the bastard would say yes. 

In Komori’s opinion, Sakusa is a pouter. In Sakusa’s opinion, Komori could get his eyes clawed out by a Fury and Sakusa wouldn’t so much as blink. 

But what Atsumu said last night hasn’t left him. Throughout all of their conversations, Sakusa has rarely shared any of the personal details of his life. And none of the people around him have demanded them from him, for which he is grateful, but Atsumu isn’t wrong. 

Aside from Komori, there is no other person on this earth that Sakusa can confidently say he intimately knows. The realization is a lonely one. He draws his knees to his chest and buries his face in them.

How would he even begin to share things about himself? He has so many years worth of pain that he wouldn’t dream of burdening another with. 

His first  _ real _ night with Atsumu comes back to him. Wasn’t it seeing Atsumu in tears, wasn’t it learning about a plight they had in common that made Sakusa feel a kinship with him? Wasn’t that what had him returning to the pond? 

And what about Kita and Aran? He values the embers of friendship they’ve managed to stoke between the three of them. He doesn’t want that to fizzle out as soon as he returns to Phrygia. He’s always longed to have interesting friends from far away lands that he spent his youth adventuring with, trailing in and out of his courtroom, same as his father. And, he thinks sullenly, he is at the height of his youth, with no friends and no adventure to show for it. 

Sakusa blows raspberries into the steaming water, then heaves himself up. 

Kita and Aran brighten when they see him walk into the grand hall and wave him over to the seat they’ve saved for him. 

_ How _ , he thinks miserably.  _ How do I let them in? _

~

The answer finds him two nights later. He hasn’t been to the pond in those two nights, still smarting from the verbal lashing. But he misses the calm of the water, misses Atsumu as well. 

Over dinner, Sakusa makes the decision to return to the pond and make amends, but before he can get very far with the train of thought, King Priam takes to the dais. 

“After twenty four evenings, you all have become more family than friends. Thank you for joining us for the Night of Treasures.”

When the cheering subsides, Kita leans in. “The Night of Treasures is exactly what it sounds like.” 

That doesn’t illuminate much, but Sakusa soon understands when servants walk in bearing giant trays overflowing with gold, silver, rubies, diamonds, emeralds, even what Sakusa thinks is jade. 

At the sight of it all, his stomach churns. He digs his hands into his thighs, but the sting does nothing to ground him. 

His breath leaves his body in shallow bursts and Sakusa is filled with the overwhelming need to leave this room. This room, and its splendor, and its enraptured onlookers. 

He shoves his chair aside and excuses himself from the hall, ignoring Kita and Aran’s worried looks and the way they call after him, and books it to the garden. He’ll explain it to them later, he promises himself.

The dark of the night around him feels too small and too large all at once. He can’t pull breaths deep enough, but he forces his legs to push forward, running through the entrance of the clearing. 

Sakusa finds Atsumu lying on one of the marble benches. 

He drops into the bench next to it like a stone. For the second time that night, he draws his knees to his chest and buries his face in them. 

Atsumu is at his side immediately. 

“Don’t touch me,” Sakusa croaks, and mourns for something that was never his when the touch doesn’t come.

“Are you alright?” Atsumu asks, concern dripping from every consonant and vowel.

Sakusa doesn’t know how to explain himself, so he just shakes his head no.

Atsumu stays with him until his breathing events out and his mind no longer feels like it's collapsing inward. 

The sweet smell of orange blossom syrup makes Sakusa look up. Atsumu has placed a tray of glistening baklava on Sakusa’s bench. 

“What is this?” Sakusa asks. The sight of the food reminds him that he hasn’t eaten since midday. 

“Did you already eat?” 

Sakusa shakes his head. “I’m still full from lunch,” he lies. The thought of putting anything in his mouth makes his stomach churn. 

Atsumu stares at him for a moment, but doesn’t comment. “Priam’s goin’ all out for this wedding, huh?” 

“You speak of the King with great familiarity,” Sakusa remarks, glad for the distraction from the chaos wreaking havoc on his mind. 

“My father goes way back with him, or something like that.”

“Or something like that,” Sakusa repeats. Komori’s father has never addressed Sakusa’s father as anything less than “Your Majesty,” even though they’re brothers. 

Atsumu picks out a piece of baklava. Sakusa tries not to stare as Atsumu licks some of the syrup off his own thumb. He’s never had the luxury of something so thoughtless. Sakusa hardly lets himself think the thought, but he’s already foregone the idea of ever touching anyone else in that way either. 

After he’s polished the dessert, Atsumu turns to him, smiling brightly. 

“So, Omi-omi, what’s got you in a slump tonight?”

Sakusa glares at him. “Nothing.”

“The ceremony’s barely started and you came over here running and in tears, no less. You’d call  _ that _ nothing?”

“I wasn’t  _ crying _ _,”_ Sakusa says, thankful for something to pick at. “If I recall correctly, that was  _ you .” _

“Got me there,” Atsumu says. Then, “Was there something about tonight that upset you?” 

Atsumu’s voice takes the same soft tone it was at the cliffside. 

Sakusa watches as the pair of swans land on the water, sending ripples across the surface. 

“It reminded me too much of my own court.”

He didn’t mean to say that, not out loud. But now that it’s out there, he can’t take it back.

“What’s your court like, Omi-omi?”

Sakusa turns his attention to the half-moon, glowing steadfast, to the stars smeared across the night sky.

“Some would say my court is the most beautiful place on earth.” 

Atsumu hums. “What would  _ you _ say your court is like?”

Sakusa inhales deeply. What would he say? Nothing befitting the heir to the throne, that much is certain. 

“My court feels like a snare,” he says, and marvels at the honesty of it. “My father earned the praise of a god once. But my father, covetous fool that he is, asked for the one thing that has brought us nothing but ruin. And I’m the bastard who gets to inherit it all one day.” 

Only Komori has heard these thoughts before. 

Sakusa used to cry relentlessly as a child. About the cruelty of his hands, about the cunning of Dionysus, who cursed him so, about the foolishness of his father, who made Sakusa the heir to a lifetime of solitude and self-loathing. 

After his sixteenth year, Sakusa’s tears dried up. As did his offerings to the gods, blasphemous though that was. If they weren’t going to have mercy on a child tortured with anguish, then he wasn’t going to offer them anything but his scorn. 

“If you could change one thing about your circumstance, what would it be?” 

Sakusa isn’t expecting the question. 

“I just want to be able to touch something and have there be no consequences.”

What is it about tonight that makes him want to throw out his secrets like skipping stones onto water?

“If I could change anything,” Atumu says, “It would be the way my brother looks at me.”

Sakusa turns to look at Atsumu. He’s sitting easy, leaning back on his arms, but his eyes look far away. 

“You have a brother?” 

There hasn’t been anyone at any of the ceremonies who looks anything like Atsumu, otherwise Sakusa thinks he would have noticed. 

“Yeah. After I got sick or whatever it is my parents are telling people these days, he started looking at me different.” Atsumu reaches a hand up, as if trying to pluck a handful of stars out of the sky. “I don’t think he means to, but sometimes, when I catch him lookin’ at me, I can see the pity in his eyes. And I hate it.” 

Atsumu closes his hand into a fist and Sakusa imagines him crushing the light out of the stars. 

“I can’t wait for the day when I can prove him wrong,” Atsumu says. 

That’s a perspective Sakusa has never considered. Here is Atsumu, raging at the heavens, trying to outrun a fate he is bound to. Sakusa doesn’t know what to make of that kind of that kind strength, of that kind of defiance. 

Atsumu tears his eyes away from the sky and looks at Sakusa. “Now we’re really friends.”

“Do you mean to tell me that these past three weeks have been a trial period?”

“No,” Atsumu laughs. “But now, we both know each other’s secrets. We have power that we can lord over each other. But because we’re friends, we’ll choose not to do so.” 

“Because we’re friends…” Sakusa trails off, staring at Atsumu with something between awe and disbelief. 

The moment is disrupted by the sounds of feet pounding against the ground. 

“Sakusa,” Aran cries, bent over to catch his breath. “We found you—”

Aran’s eyes widen when he sees Atsumu. Atsumu springs up from his seat like he’s been caught robbing a grave. 

“Atsumu?” Kita asks, peering out from behind Aran. “What are you doing out? Do the guards know you’re here? Why—”

“Do you and Sakusa  _ know _ each other?” Aran blurts, caught between bewildered and horrified. 

Kita falls silent, and they’re all left looking at each other. 

“Funny story,” Atsumu begins and forces out a stilted laugh. 

“You’re the only one laughing, so we  _ all _ better be in stitches by the time you’re done,” Aran says, gesturing at them all widely. 

Atsumu is silent for a moment. Sakusa watches his jaw clench and unclench, watches him wipe his palms against his knees, once, twice, three times. 

“What do you want me to say?” He bursts, surprising them all. “I’ve been good, haven’t I? I haven’t shown my disgraceful face all month. I can’t even come out to the gardens now?” 

“Atsumu,” Kita begins. 

“No,” Atsumu cuts him off. “No, don’t ‘Atsumu’ me. I know everything is easier when none of you have to look at me and be reminded of what a disappointment I’ve become in all of your lives.”

“Atsumu, shut  _ up _ _,”_ Aran bursts. “That’s not what we mean and you know it. You know we love you. You know how badly we want you in there with us. You know how badly  _ he _ wants you in there.”

“Don’t talk about him,” Atsumu snaps, tears springing to his eyes. 

Sakusa feels trapped watching this all happen. He wants nothing more than to run away and forget tonight ever happened. 

But Sakusa watches as a tear slips out of the corner of Atsumu’s eye and rolls down his cheek. He has no explanation for what he does next. 

Sakusa nudges Atsumu’s shoulder with his own and leads him back to his seat. Every nerve in Sakusa’s body thrills at the touch, at the feeling of Atsumu’s warm skin beneath his own. Atsumu looks up at him, eyes frantic. 

“Atsumu,” he says. “These are your friends. The words you’re saying to them are words you’re afraid they’ll say to you. But you said it yourself. They have power they can lord over you and they’re choosing not to.”

Sakusa gets this all out evenly, ignoring Kita and Aran’s stares. 

Aran walks over to the bench and sits on Atsumu’s other side. 

“‘Tsumu,” he starts, voice choked. “We’re worried. About you. About what’ll happen to you if you get caught.”

Atsumu throws his hands up. “So what if I get caught?” 

Aran grabs Atsumu’s shoulder and shakes him. “The last time you got caught doing something like this, we didn’t see you for two years.  _ Two years _ , Atsumu. We can’t lose you like that again. We can’t—” Aran’s hiccups on his tears. He’s crying too hard to continue speaking. Aran pulls Atsumu to his chest and holds him there. 

Kita, who’s been watching them, finally walks over and wraps one arm around Aran and the other around Atsumu. He gestures for Sakusa, but Sakusa shakes his head. 

Atsumu clings to Kita’s chiton and Kita runs deft fingers through Atsumu’s hair, over Aran’s eyebrow and cheekbone. 

Sakusa forces himself to watch. To take in everything he’s seeing. This is what it means to love someone. To love someone so intimately that losing them, even temporarily, is enough to render one speechless with grief. 

It takes a while for them to settle. Aran is the first to disentangle himself, wiping away stray tears with the back of his hand. Kita’s hands trail down to Atsumu’s face to wipe away his tears. 

“You’re such a baby,” Kita says with the kind of fondness parents reserve for their children. 

“Aran cried harder than I did,” Atsumu whines, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Aran huffs a laugh and knocks their shoulders together. “Shut up ‘Tsumu, you’re so annoying.” 

“You’re both brats,” Kita says, tucking his skirt under him and taking a seat in the grass. He looks up at the three on the bench and his gaze cuts to Sakusa. “Now, why don’t you tell us how you two know each other?” 

“Don’t grill him, Kita. He is a victim of  _ coincidence _ ,” Atsumu throws Sakusa’s words back at him, and turns a shit-eating, teary-eyed grin Sakusa’s way. 

“Aren’t we all,” Aran says, glancing at the sky. 

Atsumu explains in great detail, and with great embellishment, how he and Sakusa have gotten to know each other. 

When he’s done, Aran looks between the two of them. “So you’ve been leaving us every night for a little soiree with ‘Tsumu, have you, Sakusa?”

“Don’t say it like that,” Sakusa grumbles. 

“Huh,” Kita says. “That’s almost romantic.” 

Sakusa chokes on his spit and Atsumu and Aran double over in laughter. 

“Call me Eros,” Atsumu says, miming shooting a bow and arrow. 

Sakusa kicks his calf. “Don’t be delusional.”

“Aw come on, Omi-omi, what was it you told me a few nights ago? That I was and I quote, ‘intelligent enough to be a court scholar.’” 

Atsumu starts laughing when Sakusa kicks him again, and then a third time. It’s not nearly as menacing as he hoped it would be, considering the flush high on his cheeks. 

“‘Tsumu’s got a bag of rocks for brains,” Aran says. “And clearly, you do too, Sakusa.”

Atsumu shoves Aran. “Fine, then you don’t get any of the baklava Omimi made me.” 

“Baklava?” Kita perks up from where he’s been lying on the grass and makes grabby hands for the tray. His eyes widen to saucers when Atsumu hands it to him.

Kita picks a piece out for himself and makes a nose suspiciously close to a moan when he takes a bite. He closes his eyes in momentary bliss, ignoring the shocked expressions they all direct at him.

“Can I ask a question?” Sakusa ventures. 

“Just did,” Aran says, trying to wrestle a piece of baklava for himself. 

“I hate when you say shit like that, Aran,” Atsumu gripes. 

“Yeah, well, I hate you,” Aran shoots back, finally wrestling the tray away from Kita. 

“Ignore them,” Kita says. “What’s your question?” 

“What did you mean earlier, when you said the last time Atsumu was caught, you didn’t see him for two years?” 

Silence falls over their little circle. A gentle breeze rifles the curls that have fallen on Sakusa’s forehead. 

“My father,” Atsumu finally says. “When I was eighteen, I had,” he pauses for an inordinate amount of time. “An episode.” 

He says the words like they cost him a part of his soul. 

“It was at an elder brother’s wedding. And it lasted for so long that my father had me escorted from the hall and locked away in my chambers. I wasn’t allowed to see anyone besides my parents and my tutors for two years.” Atsumu’s hands are clenched into trembling fists atop his knees. “Not that my parents ever came to visit.”

“We tried every way we could think of to break you out,” Kita says. 

Atsumu looks surprised to hear that. “But—”

“But we always got caught,” Aran says with a sad shake of his head. “We weren’t nearly as stealthy as we are now.”

“You tried to break me out,” Atsumu whispers, tears welling up in his eyes again. “Was ‘Samu—”

A shuddering gasp cuts Atsumu off. He hunches forward then surges upright, eyes rolling into the back of his head. Atsumu grabs Sakusa’s forearm with an iron grip that Sakusa can’t free himself of, no matter how much he struggles. 

_ “ Son of Phrygia _ _,”_ he begins, but it comes out strange and warped, like many pained voices are speaking at once. His eyes glow as he speaks. _“_ _ Born of greed, wrought of fury. A youth of the court you will bury. Touch him not, my warning heed. Glory or gold; one will define thee .” _

Atsumu’s grip on Sakusa’s arm slackens and he slumps forward. Kita scrambles forward to catch him. 

Silence. Silence so loud it’s deafening roars in Sakusa’s ears. 

He stares saucer eyed at Atsumu’s shaking back. “What...what just happened?” 

Aran sounds defeated when he speaks. “Is this your first time experiencing one of Atsumu’s episodes?” 

“Episodes?” Sakusa asks, bewildered. “What are you talking about? That was a prophecy.”

Kita shakes his head. “Is that what he told you?”

“No, he didn’t tell me anything.”

Kita frowns at Sakusa. “Atsumu has had episodes like these since he was fifteen. They  _ aren’t _ prophecies.”

Sakusa opens his mouth to argue, then snaps it shut. His eyes find Atsumu’s wilted form. He looks so small, gathered in Kita’s arms, nothing like the strong man Sakusa has come to know. His hair is mussed from when he was tugging at it, the fabric of his chiton wrinkled. 

“Will he be okay?” Sakusa asks instead. 

He watches as Aran flashes Kita a look, and Kita gives a minute shake of his head. A flash of anger surges through Sakusa, at the way they know each other well enough to know what to withhold from him without even needing to speak.

“He’ll be fine,” Kita says with finality. He stands up and Aran helps him haul Atsumu onto his back. 

Sakusa drags himself down from the bench and settles onto the patch of grass Atsumu had collapsed onto. He leans back until his shoulders hit the bench. The cool of the marble helps cool down the cold sweat that had formed at Atsumu’s words. 

_ Born of greed, wrought of fury. A youth of the court you will bury. Touch him not, my warning heed. Glory or gold; one will define thee. _

Those are things he’s never told Atsumu about himself. Atsumu has always been aware of Sakusa’s aversion to touch, but he’s never revealed to Atsumu the  _ why _ of it all. That Atsumu somehow knows there are deathly consequences to Sakusa’s touch cannot be coincidence. 

There’s no repressing the shivers that wrack Sakusa at the thought. 

~

As a precaution, Sakusa spends all of the next day in his room. 

He doesn’t take meals, even when Aran and Kita pound on his door. 

“I’m not feeling well,” he shouts to them. 

“You should take medicine and eat something then,” Kita calls back. “Rather than lock yourself in your room.”

“I don’t want to infect anyone.”

The truth of the matter is that he’s fine. But Atsumu never specified how young a youth of the court was. What if he reached out a hand to take the plate Kita had for him and accidentally brushed his hand against Kita’s and killed him? What if it’s Aran? He doesn’t want to put either of them at risk, or anyone at the court.

“I’ll be out for breakfast tomorrow,” he insists and doesn’t move again till he hears them sigh and walk away from his door. 

What to do with an entire day to himself? Sakusa is loath to admit it, but he’s gotten used to being surrounded by people. Between Kita’s straightforward commentary and Aran’s kind words and light-hearted humor, there’s always something interesting to listen to. And it isn’t like he can go to the pond and listen to Atsumu’s rambling tonight, either. 

Sakusa hopes that Atsumu’s doing well. He hopes that whatever happened to him last night wasn’t painful, won’t get him into any sort of trouble again. 

He sighs and takes out a parchment, thinking to start a letter to Komori. 

Many hours and many pages later, he’s interrupted by the sound of screaming and people running down the halls.

“Out of your rooms, everyone out of your rooms!” Someone’s shouting. “Fire, there’s a fire!”

Sakusa knocks back his chair in his haste to rise. He grabs his cape, makes sure his hand coverings are secure, and runs out of his room. 

Heart lodged in his throat, Sakusa runs down the corridors, following the crowd and keeping his arms folded across his chest. 

The shouting continues around him. Panicked parents, their children pressed to their hips, surge to the front of the crowd. 

Sakusa imagines Atsumu trapped in a maze of rooms, and hopes he makes it out safe. 

Atsumu had foretold a prophecy. And the gods always had a way of bringing prophecies to life. 

What happens next feels like it happens in slow motion. 

A large man pushes a mother who’s likely been interrupted from nursing—if her open top and the child cradled to her chest are anything to go by—in his haste to get out. 

She reaches out an arm to steady herself, but crashes into a young boy, no older than ten. 

Sakusa maps the boy’s point of impact as soon as he begins to fall and reaches out instinctively to stop him. At the last moment, he remembers Atsumu’s words and brings his hands back to himself. 

At the same moment, the leather from the glove on his right hand snaps clean off, while the boy,  _ a youth of the court _ , hits his head on a pillar with a vase on top of it with a sickening crack. The vase tips over and falls onto the boy, shattering to pieces. 

The loud noise and the boy’s wailing stills the crowd, until a woman scoops the child out of the debris, covered in blood, and carries him with her. 

Sakusa stands there for far too long, his glove trampled by the sandal clad feet racing around him. He’s jostled by elbows and shoulders and knee, until he moves forward again, but his mind is lost in the static. 

If not for Atsumu’s warning, he would have killed that boy. 

Atsumu had known that would happen. He had known and he saved both Sakusa and the child. 

~

With the worst of the crisis averted and the fire put out, Sakusa skips that night’s celebration entirely and heads straight to the pond. 

His mind is racing with a million thoughts, a million things he needs to ask Atsumu. 

How could Aran and Kita say that what Atsumu does isn’t prophecy telling? Even if what happened today was mere coincidence, the gods seemed to possess Atsumu’s body the same way Sakusa has seen every oracle possessed.

He skids to a halt and takes in the carnage before him. 

The pond which he’s spent a whole month coming to know and love is completely destroyed. The flower bushes are all dug up, trampled petals scattered all over the ground. The benches are all smashed to pieces, like someone took a hammer to them. 

Sakusa has to pick his way through the wreckage to reach the most devastating sight of all: the pond, drained of its water, the stones surrounding it broken. The swans are nowhere to be seen, the fish that used to flit around in the water now dead and floating in a pool of oozing black tar. 

Sakusa drops to his knees, willing his heart to slow down. 

“Atsumu,” he tries, panic clawing at his throat. “Atsumu, are you here?”

Nothing but the silence of the evening answers him.

“Atsumu, please, where are you?” Sakusa cries, voice cracking. “Did you do this?”

But as soon as he says it, he knows it’s wrong. This is one of the only places Atsumu loves in the whole palace. He wouldn’t. 

But then who? 

Who would ruin this beautiful place? Who would destroy the spot that holds all of their memories in its seams? 

Sakusa lies there until the sky blackens to ink, and later, until dawn breaks through the night, the warm hues of the morning light giving a new horror to the destruction.

He forces himself up, wrists and knees cracking with the movement. 

Sakusa feels hollow at the core. 

~

The next few days are spent in a blur. He avoids Kita and Aran, avoids their concerned glances and their kindly worded questions. 

Sakusa avoids himself, too. He doesn’t look at his reflection in the baths, doesn’t look at himself in the polished silver plates he used to spend so long fixing his hair in front of. 

He wakes up on the morning of the thirtieth night to a pounding skull, and if he had taken a moment to peek at himself, he would have seen the wild hair, the near-bruises under his eyes.

Tonight is the final celebration, however, and the last thing Sakusa wants is to face what he has to do tonight. He spends the whole of the day restlessly pacing around his room, clenching and unclenching his fists, tugging at his hair, until the trumpets sound. 

He clips his cape on, wraps his hands in layers of silk, instead of leather, and makes his way to the great hall. 

Hours pass, the sky changing from blazing gold, to warm purples and oranges, before settling on a blue so deep it appears bruised. 

Sakusa has spent the whole of the night leaning against his wall. Few have approached him. He knows himself to be an attractive man, even with his wild appearance. Dark hair curled against his forehead, dark eyes fanned by darker lashes, and a sharp jaw and broad shoulders make for a cutting figure. But the venom of his eyes and the revolted twist to his lips, a twist he’s spent hours perfecting, keeps all but the bravest—stupidest—of them away from him. 

And even they are immediately turned away, until no one comes closer. 

Even Aran and Kita don’t come near him, though they openly stare at him all evening. 

The hour is nearing midnight when King Priam orders the guests to turn their attention to his son. 

“Friends, loved ones,” King Priam booms, deep voice carrying around the dome of the room. “Thank you for making the journey to celebrate such a joyous occasion with my family.”

He turns his blazing smile at everyone in the room. It’s warmth almost makes Sakusa want to forgive the King for the transgression of forcing Sakusa’s presence. 

“We are honored to host you, and honored further by the gifts you bestow upon my son and his betrothed for this final night, the Night of Revelations.

“But first, my son, Crown Prince Osamu and Prince Suna Rintarou of Crete!” 

With a flourish, priests from the temple whip away the cloths and reveal the prince and his betrothed. 

Sakusa goes slack-jawed at the sight.

Sitting on the dais is a man with Atsumu’s face. Had Sakusa been consorting with the crown prince of Troy for the past month? Had Sakusa almost  _ kissed _ the crown prince of Troy? 

He forces himself to look again. Where there should be gleaming blonde, there is dark black. Where there should be wide-eyed awed, there is lazy-eyed grace. 

Is this the brother Atsumu spoke of?

He tries to catch Aran or Kita’s eyes, but they have their attention glued to the couple. 

Prince Osamu is broad shouldered and lightly tanned, with a physique most in the room's eyes keep straying towards.

He appears to be pleased in a way that fails to be condescending and it makes Sakusa take a small but immediate liking to him. 

His fiance is also undeniably beautiful, slender limbed and sleek, with dark hair that curls out at the edges and sharp eyes that miss nothing. 

They look decidedly good sitting next to each other.

The priests drape a cloth above their heads, leaving their faces visible, and grinds sugar over them. 

“For a sweet marriage,” the King says.

Then, they press their thumbs into crystal bowls of henna and swipe them across the others’ palms. 

“So they may never sway from the straight path,” the Queen announces. 

Finally, they each place a cardamom pod into the other’s mouth, chew them down, and swallow. 

“So they may always know the taste of the heavens,” the head priestess calls.

_ Where is Atsumu tonigh t? _ Sakusa wonders. Where is he being kept, away from the festivities and the unadulterated joy that thrums through the hall?

His train of thought is cut off by the banging of drums, and guests begin to offer their gifts. 

Some bring bolts of fabric so vibrant they put the blues of ocean and sky to shame. Others, iridescent gossamer so delicate Sakusa worries a butterfly’s wings would tear through it. 

Many present spices, the scents of which dizzy him with the way they fill the room. 

Aran offers one of the Minataur horns and a dozen white goats. 

“To be slaughtered in the name of the Goddess Aphrodite before any undertaking for her blessings and protection.” 

Kita plays a selection of songs on the only lyre in the world to have seen the Underworld. His voice is so gut wrenching, his fingers so nimble across the strings it brings the King to tears. 

Well into the night, Sakusa steps out of his corner and to the center of the room. 

A flurry of servants bring out an array of objects: a tray of fruit, musical instruments, doves in a cage, a horse, and even, to Sakusa’s absolute horror, the swans he recognizes from the pond, their necks tied together in the shape of a heart.

He eyes everything they place before him, wary, before he lets the silk covering his hands fall to ground. 

Aran pushes to the front of the circle, bringing Kita with him, but Sakusa resolutely avoids their eyes. He mourns the friendship they’ve built over the course of the month, knowing that what he’s about to do next will ruin it.

Sakusa bows before the King and Queen, before Prince Osamu and Prince Rintarou. 

“Exalted,” he begins, voice sweeping over the crowd. “You honor me with your invitation. I am humbled to stand in your court.” 

“No more than I to stand in the court of your father,” replies the King. “And one day, my son will stand in yours as you stand in his.” 

‘Sir,” Sakusa replies, bowing deep once again, before turning his attention to the Prince. “Prince Osamu, I bring you the gifts of the Court of Midas, so they might enrich the life of you and your beloved.” 

Gasps fill the hall and fall immediately silent at Queen Hecuba’s signal.

Murmurs sound through the hall once again as his hand hovers over an apple. It’s the red of roses and blood and the painted lips of a lover. Sakusa hates that he’s going to ruin it, to take such a beautiful color away from the world. 

He swallows and forces himself to grab it. 

The room erupts into screams as the red is replaced by a gleaming gold. 

“Simply splendid,” the King roars, while the Queen claps. “Behold, the blessings of Midas.” 

But Sakusa has eyes only for the Prince. His hand tightens around the arm of his betrothed. Prince Rintarou places his hand over Prince Osamu’s and they share a look, before they both turn to look at Sakusa. 

He doesn’t miss the pity flashing in their eyes, knows that it mirrors the self-pity that must show in his own. But the King and the Queen and the crowd are enthralled, which means Sakusa is fulfilling the request his father tasked him with. 

Every item he touches brings the room to further applause, but deepens the frown of Prince Osamu. This makes Sakusa like him infinitely more. 

Sakusa is about to reach for the pair of swans —he feels it cruel to turn one before the other—when a loud slam rips the attention away from him and towards the doors of the great hall. One of the swans lets out a squawk. 

There, standing in the entrance, is Atsumu. His yellow hair is tousled, his golden eyes blurry and frantic. Sakusa watches as the King’s expression turns to fury, while Prince Osamu glows and truly smiles for the first time all night. 

“‘Tsumu!” He calls. 

His gaze falls on Prince Osamu and his eyes finally seem to focus. A light smile tugs at his lips. Before they can have their reunion though, King Priam rises from his throne. 

_ “ Who let you out _ _?”_ He belows. 

Atsumu winces, tucking into himself. Sakusa has never Atsumu shrink before. 

“Father,” Prince Osamu rises as well, letting his betrothed’s hands fall away from him. “I want him here.”

“Nonsense,” the King says, stepping off the dais and towards Atsumu, who is looking desperately at Prince Osamu now.

The King points an accusing, unforgiving finger at Atsumu. “You will leave immediately.” 

“Father,” Prince Osamu pleads. “I  _ need _ him here.”

King Priam turns angry eyes towards his son. Sakusa feels the wrath from where he stands, but to his credit, Prince Osamu remains firm.

“I have but one thing to say,” Atsumu says. Sakusa is surprised by the sweetness of his voice, the almost musical tone to it, despite how harried he looks. 

That, coupled with his golden hair and golden eyes makes Sakusa think fleetingly of the honey his mother used to spoon feed him when he was sick as a child. 

“Please, Father,” he pleads. 

Sakusa watches King Priam’s heart break on his face. “Atsumu,” he says and the anguish laced through those syllables courses through the room, nearly palpable. 

“Father,” Atsumu begins. He stands taller, broad shoulders rising, proud chin tipping forward. “Countrymen.” 

Like his father, he looks each of them in the eye. 

_ A natural born leader _ _,_ Sakusa finds himself thinking. 

“I come to you bearing the burden of knowledge. In three nights, the Spartans will present us with a gift horse. We will look into the eyes of the beast, but think not to look into the mouth that spits venom at us and curses the good name of the city of Troy.

“We must not accept it. We must not let them lay ruin to our people. We must—”

_ “ Atsumu _ _,”_ King Priam shouts, sweeping his large hand over a tray, knocking over countless goblets. They shatter against the marble floor, spraying wine everywhere, but King Priam pays them no mind. 

“You come before us, before the people of Troy and kingdoms beyond and infect us with your—”

The King splutters for a moment, face red.

“Your  _ filth _ _._ Your vile  _ filth _ _._ On the night of your brother’s wedding, no less. The only one who curses the city of Troy is you,” he bellows.

King Priam continues his descent towards his son. “Well, no longer,” he says.

When he is mere paces away from him, King Priam spits at Atsumu’s feet. 

Sakusa recognizes the disownment for what it is. 

Violent color rises to Atsumu’s cheeks and tears gather in his eyes. He doesn’t make an effort to hide them. Sakusa distantly wonders what it would be like to reach out and turn them to gold against Atsumu’s skin. 

“Father, please,” he pleads. 

The King strikes Atsumu with the back of his hand. “I am your father no more, and you will never address me as such again. This is not your home,” he says, enunciating each word. 

Queen Hecuba sobs into the folds of her dress. Prince Osamu collapses to his knees, Prince Rintarou crouched by his side. 

Atsumu rises to his full height and meets his father’s eye. “Let the God Apollo bear witness, that I have warned the people of Troy of their impending doom. That he curses me out of spite and brings ruin to my people.” 

“You would dare insult the God Apollo?” Priam roars, spittle flying into Atsumu’s face. 

But he is out the door before anyone can lay another hand on him. 

~

Sakusa takes the chaos as an opportunity to run out after him. 

He’s outside the palace doors before anyone can miss his absence. Winding through the empty courtyards rests his mind and the cool night air fills his lungs. He’s able to breathe easier, let his chest contract fully, when there is no risk of turning someone. 

Sakusa runs to the one place Atsumu could possibly be right now. He rushes down the path and doesn’t stop till he sees Atsumu sitting near the cliff of the lip, staring down at the water.

“Atsumu,” Sakusa cries, relief course through him for the first time in days. 

Atsumu goes rigid when he hears Sakusa. 

“Did the king send you?” Atsumu demands, and Sakusa does well to ignore the rasp in his voice. 

When he shakes his head, Atsumu eyes him again. “Then what  _ are _ you doing here?” 

“I had to get away from there.” The truth of the statement anchors him. 

“Why?” 

Sakusa eyes the man standing before him. Atsumu’s chest heaves against the weight of unshed tears. His irises flash gold in the moonlight. 

He wants to hate them on principle, but the pain in them compels Sakusa closer. 

“They were making a spectacle of me,” he says. “As they made a spectacle of you.”

Atsumu winces, then seems to deflate. 

“None of them believe me.”

“What you’re saying is true.” Sakusa doesn’t say it like a question.

Atsumu’s whips towards him so quickly it makes Sakusa’s own neck hurt. “What do you mean?” 

He asks the question like he is breathless, as though Sakusa has a boulder on Atsumu’s chest and Atsumu is pleading with the universe for Sakusa to lift it. 

“You were warning them, but they looked at you like you were crazy.”

Fresh tears pool in Atsumu’s eyes, quivering against his lashes. “You mean... you believe me?” 

Sakusa gives a curt nod. “That night at the pond, you predicted that I would kill a youth if I touched him. And you were right. Because of your prophecy, I was able to avoid him. His life was spared.”

Atsumu gasps, turns to him with eyes so bright, so full of  _ something _ , that Sakusa feels himself the God Helios, pulling the sun through the sky. 

“No one has  _ ever _ believed me,” he whispers into the still air between them. 

“Why not?” Sakusa asks.

Sakusa doesn’t recall how it happened, but they’ve moved closer together. He could reach out a hand and brush the hair off of Atsumu’s forehead if he wanted to. 

Atsumu looks to the ground, then back up at Sakusa. “I’m cursed.”

The air leaves Sakusa’s body with such force it nearly topples him. 

“Maybe that’s why I believe you,” he finally manages.

“What do you mean?” Atsumu asks with the quirk of an elegant eyebrow. 

“I’m cursed as well.” Sakusa stares at his hands. Years of revulsion with himself, with his father, crash over him in waves. “What about you?” 

Atsumu startles. “What about me?”

“Your curse,” Sakusa says. “What is your curse?”

“Right. My curse. The God Apollo,” Atsumu trails. 

Sakusa doesn’t think he’s going to say anymore, but after a few moments, he pushes out a breath and continues. 

“The God tried to court me many moons ago. I didn't want his hand, but he wouldn’t accept rejection. He ‘blessed’ me,” here Atsumu sneers. “With the gift of sight. When still I wouldn’t accept, he turned the gift into a curse, as he couldn’t revoke a godly gift.

“I am cursed to speak every prophecy I have and I am cursed to never be believed, but they’re all true, I swear it,” Atsumu scrambles to add, searching Sakusa’s face with the worry of someone who is used to scorn and hoping to avoid a lashing. 

“I believe you,” Sakusa says. 

“Say it again.”

“I believe you,” Sakusa repeats firmly.

Atsumu shudders. “I have been waiting years to hear those words.  _ Years _ .” 

They are silent for a moment. 

“If no one will heed your warning, what will befall Troy?”

“Nevermind that,” Atsumu spits. “Troy resigns itself to its fate. However, I have a question for you.” Without waiting for Sakusa to respond, he says. “If everything you touch turns to gold, have you ever been held? Taken a lover?” 

Shame burns through him. “Never.” 

“Well,” Atsumu says, taking two steps closer, until he is only a hairsbreadth away from him. 

Sakusa scrambles away, but Atsumu follows after him. 

“Stop running,” he says. Sakusa stills at his tone. 

“Don’t touch me,” Sakusa pleads. “I left my hand wraps in the hall. I didn’t pick them up, I was so focused on getting out, I—”

“Stop overthinking.” Sakusa’s mouth clamps shut. Goosebumps rise up his arms as Atsumu moves even closer. 

“You were able to get past my curse,” he begins. “It logically follows that I should be able to get past yours.”

“We don’t know that,” Sakusa says. 

Atsumu is before him now. “Don’t you want to know what it’s like?” he whispers.

Sakusa swallows at the sight before him. One of Atsumu’s shoulders is bare, leading up into the smooth, unmarred skin of a long neck. Fair hair curls around the shell of his ear and Sakusa notices the dark hair peeking through the blonde. 

“I'll kill you,” Sakusa rasps. His heart thunders through his chest. He wonders if Zeus might have struck him with a lightning bolt without his noticing. It wouldn’t be the first time the gods meddled in the affairs of mortals. 

“I could die happy, after tonight,” Atsumu says. 

“You don’t mean that,” Sakusa tries. “Your brother, your mother, your father, they would all—"

Atsumu’s face twists into something vicious. “They would all  _ nothing _ _._ ‘Samu and mother just  _ sat _ there, while he made a mockery of me to the whole kingdom. To them, I died ages ago.” 

Sakusa shakes his head. “I  _ can’t _ .”

“You can,” Atsumu says. “I want you to. If you want to.”

He looks at his feet, deliberates a moment, then faces Sakusa again. “No one will love me again, after tonight. Long before tonight, if we’re being honest. The party-goers spoke of me, did they not?”

At Atsumu’s expectant stare, Sakusa nods. He’s spent the whole month catching snippets of gossip, but hadn’t thought it to be anything more than that. 

“I’m sure they said all sorts of delightful things.” He waves a hand. “‘The poor crazy one,’” he mocks. “‘So beautiful, but such a fucking  _ shame _ .’”

It’s captivating, watching how fully emotions make Atsumu their receptacle. A true oracle. 

“No one is capable of loving me again. I would rather die with the joy of having been believed just once than wait for the world to burn me again. And besides, we don’t actually know what effect your touch will have on me.”

Atsumu turns a wry smile at him. “For all we know, you could touch me and it could be magical and we could fall in love and move to a small farm and tend to our cows and our crop and sell your gold and my fortune telling for income or something silly like that.” 

And Sakusa can see it. Hates how badly he wants it. To touch. To  _ be _ touched. All his life, he’s been so careful, and for what? For a stupid man, a stranger really, with only one common thread between them, to take apart his control with a few simple words and a silly fantasy.

But still, he aches with the need to reach out and feel another human beneath his fingertips. 

“Atsumu…”

“ _ Do it _ ,” he says, a challenge. 

Something must possess Sakusa, because he lurches forward, gripping Atsumu’s face in his hands. Without hesitation, he crushes their lips together and Atsumu gasps against his lips. It is uncomfortable for a moment, until Atsumu cups Sakusa’s cheeks with his hands and softens the kiss. 

Tears well in Sakusa’s eyes. Atsumu is so  _ warm _ , so full of life. He is molten fire, burning so hot under Sakusa’s palms. He runs his thumbs against Atsumu’s cheeks, runs his hands through Atsumu’s hair, tugs at his earlobes. 

Sakusa can’t touch him fast enough. 

Atsumu giggles against his lips, and isn’t that just magical, another human laughing against  _ his _ lips. Sakusa chases the smile, nips Atsumu’s bottom lip, nuzzles their noses together. He feels Atsumu’s lashes against his own cheek. 

Sakusa doesn’t know how long it lasts, seconds, minutes, hours, but he knows every moment of it is perfect. Atsumu is so alive under his hands, gasping at his touch. 

It takes Sakusa too long to realize why the night’s grown colder, what exactly it is that he’s feeling, what exactly it is that’s making Atsumu gasp. He pulls back too late and watches in horror as the gold licks up Atsumu’s face. 

Atsumu’s eyes struggle and then settle into resignation at his fate, relaxing into it. Sakusa stares and stares until the gold has consumed every last hair. 

There’s nothing to catch Sakusa when he collapses to the ground. Screams rip through him, leaving his throat raw. 

He claws his arms and face, pulls at his hair until he feels strands loosen from his scalp, but nothing can replace this pain he feels when he looks up and sees Atsumu, now a lifeless statue, staring down at him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> atsumu is NOT dead!!!! this is the first part of a trilogy and at some point, there will be a happy ending :-) 
> 
> thank you so much to [stefansgirl](https://twitter.com/atsum00s) for beta reading this story and for telling me that it had the potential to be longer when it was just 3k of word vomit 
> 
> come say hi on [twt](https://twitter.com/littleboatau) :>


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